Southern  Branch 
of  the 

University  of  California 


Los  Angeles 


Form  L  1 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


Form  L-9-15rn-8,'24 


BOURBON  LILIES 


A    STORY    OF    ARTIST    LIFE. 


BY 

LIZZIE  W.  CHAMPNEY. 


NEW  YORK : 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY, 

14  AND  1 6  VESEY  STREET. 


COPYRIGHT,  1878,  BY 
LOCKWOOD,  BROOKS  AND  COMPANY. 


COPYRIGHT,  1883,  BY 
JOHN  W.   LOVELL  COMPANY. 


120 


p^ 

^  3        i  -z*  s c 

C35 
irffltHORMAL  SCHOOL, 

Lo»  Angeles,  Cal. 


BOUBBON  LILIES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

CHUMS. 

....  A  steady  hand 
To  hold,  a  steadfast  heart  to  trust  withal ; 
Merely  a  man  that  loves  you,  and  will  stand 
By  you,  whate'er  befall. 

JEAN  INGELOW. 

""pOURRIEZ-VOUS,  monsieur,  m'indicjuer 

un  h6tel,  ou  des  chambres  a  louer  ? 
The  speaker  was  a  gentleman  almost 
faultless  in  dress,  but  with  a  pleasant  exp 
on  his  clearly-cut,  aristocratic  features, 
not  look  Frenchy,  though  he  spoke  without 
and  Vandyke  Brown  —  familiarly  called  V< 
nevermore  to  be  mentioned  by  his  full  n 
these  pages  —  felt  in  some  unreasoning  wa^ 
he  was  a  foreigner  like  himself     While  arriving 
at  this  conclusion,  he  mentally  envied  the  stranger 
his  proficiency  in  French.     It  was  only  a  year 


10  BOURBON  LILIES. 

since  Van  had  left  America ;  he  had  just  returned 
to  Ecouen,  near  Paris,  from  a  winter  in  Rome, 
and  French,  which  he  had  not  acquired  before 
leaving  France,  seemed  doubly  difficult  now.  In 
his  blundering,  good-natured  way  he  stammered, 
in  a  mixture  of  the  two  languages, — while  he 
fumbled  for  his  pocket  phrase-book,  which  he  had 
unfortunately  left  at  his  studio,  —  that  he  hardly 
understood  French,  and  spoke  it,  if  possible,  more 
poorly,  but  if  the  gentleman  would  try  him  on 
Italian,  he  thought  he  should  be  able  to  reply. 

*'Non  parlo  Italiano,  aber  wenn  Sie  Deutsch 
sprechen  ? " 

Van  shook  his  head  hopelessly,  and  his  cosmo- 
politan questioner  next  addressed  him  in  a,  to 
Van,  utterly  incomprehensible  language,  which 
he  fancied  Portuguese,  if  indeed  it  were  not 
Arabic,  or  perhaps  it  might  be  modern  Greek. 
It  turned  out  to  be  Russian,  and  the  gentleman's 
native  tongue ;  but  poor  Van  would  probably 
never  have  known  this  if  the  next  attempt  at 
conversation  had  not  been  couched  in  perfect 
English. 

"  Come  to  my  arms ! "  exclaimed  the  young 
American.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  my  delight 
at  finding  some  one  who  can  speak  English  and 
French  must  have  got  the  better  of  my  reason. 


CHUMS.  1 1 

You  are  the  very  individual  I  have  been  looking 
for,  some  one  to  share  my  studio  and  apartments. 
Don't  talk  to  me  about  hotels  or  rooms,  but 
come  right  down  to  my  den ;  it  isn't  sumptuous, 
but  it 's  better  than  anything  you  can  find  in  the 
village,  and  you  are  welcome  to  stay  as  long  as 
you  wish." 

"  You  are  very  hospitable,"  replied  the  other, 
"  and  hoping  that  you  may  not  have  cause  to 
repent  your  kind  offer,  I  hereby  accept  it,  pro- 
vided you  allow  me  to  share  in  the  disagreeables 
as  well  as  the  agreeables.  I  have  an  idea  thafwe 
shall  get  on  very  well  together,  for  I  am  an  artiot, 
as  I  see  you,  are,  and  —  " 

"  How  in  the  world  — "  began  Van. 

"  Oh  !  you  have  the  genuine  artistic  look,  uid 
besides,  none  but  artists  ever  come  to  Ecouen,  I 
fancy." 

"You  have  been  here  before,  then?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  have  scarcely  ever  heard  of 
the  place,  though  I  have  spent  half  my  life  in 
Paris  and  devoted  my  summers  to  its  environs. 
Strange,  wherever  I  have  been  I  have  met  com- 
patriots of  yours.  Perhaps  it  was  because  the 
manufactory  of  Sevres  and  the  palaces  of  St. 
Cloud  and  Versailles  attracted  them,  for  the 
season  I  spent  on  the  heights  of  Meudon,  I  met 


12  BOURBON   LILIES. 

more  tourists  than  ever  before  in  my  life.  I  ran 
over  to  coquettish  little  Ville  d'Avray,  but  the 
Americans  had  found  it  out  before  me ;  they 
were  as  thick  at  Bougival  as  the  oarsmen  in  the 
rowing  season,  and  they  literally  swarmed  at 
Malmaison  and  St.  Germain.  Last  summer  I 
tried  Enghien,  but  here  too  the  fairy  villas  and 
open  air  concerts  were  filled  with  pretty  Yankee 
girls,  who  spent  the  morning  in  tiny  row-boats, 
ruffling  the  lake  and  showing  their  embroidered 
stockings,  or  in  making  excursions  to  Montmo- 
renci  for  cherries.  I  met  them  at  Montreuil, 
invalids  I  was  told,  but  they  consumed  peaches 
until  their  cheeks  were  as  round  and  as  full  of 
color  as  the  fruit,  and  no  one  else  could  buy  a 
basket  of  it :  all  were  promised  to  the  sick  ladies. 
In  the  rainy  season  there  were  as  many  fast 
young  men  from  your  country  at  the  Bois  as  fast 
horses,  and  I  never  attended  a  hunting  party  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Paris  without  being  told  by 
some  Nimrod  that  boar  hunting  was  very  slow 
sport  compared  with  shooting  alligators  in  Florida, 
or  buffalo  on  the  Plains.  Tell  me,  my  dear  sir, 
are  there  any  Americans  left  in  America  ? " 

Van  laughed  heartily.  "  You  must  remember 
that  there  are  a  good  many  of  us,"  said  he. 

"  There  must  be,"  replied  Orsovitch.    "  Toward 


CHUMS.  13 

the  last  of  the  summer  I  went  to  St.  Denis, 
thinking  there  could  be  no  attraction  for  pleasure- 
seekers  there,  but  I  had  hardly  commenced  sketch- 
ing the  interior  of  the  abbey,  when  I  was  assailed 
by  two  literary  ladies  —  the  worst  specimens  that 
I  have  yet  met  of  the  genus  Americanus.  They 
were  deciphering  inscriptions  and  asked  my  help ; 
when  they  ascertained  that  I  spoke  English  there 
was  no  getting  away  from  them.  I  slipped  away 
to  Vincennes  to  visit  a  military  friend,  and  met 
them  the  next  day  prowling  about  the  dungeon, 
—  'such  an  interesting  place  for  persons  with 
antiquarian  tastes.'  I  would  not  go  to  Barbizon 
because  I  knew  there  were  American  artists  both 
there  and  at  Fontainebleau ;  but  among  all  the 
foreigners  whom  I  have  ever  met,  I  never  heard 
one  speak  of  Ecouen  ;  indeed,  few  of  the  Parisians 
know  it.  I  really  fancied  that  I  had  i.1  last  found 
an  uninvaded  village  —  and  the  first  person  I 
meet  is  an  American  !  " 

"Don't  let  me  frighten  you  away,"  said  Van 
shyly.  He  had  listened  to  his  companion's  adven- 
tures with  an  amused  look  upon  his  face,  and 
without  the  slightest  thought  of  taking  offense. 
This  handsome  man,  with  his  good-natured  raillery 
of  Americans  (a  raillery  with  its  sting  taken  out 
by  his  easy  politeness),  with  his  general  air  of 


BOURBON   LILIES. 


worldly  wisdom,  without  any  of  the  bitterness 
which  such  wisdom  brings,  with  a  face  that 
seemed  to  tell  that  its  owner  had  seen  and  tasted 
of  every  pleasant  thing  in  life  except  sin,  had 
quite  won  Van's  heart.  It  was  not  an  unimpres- 
sionable heart  at  any  time,  for  Van's  nature  was 
as  frank  and  affectionate  as  it  was  sensitive  and 
retiring;  but  there  was  something  in  this  man 
that  peculiarly  attracted  him.  Van,  himself,  was 
scarcely  more  than  a  boy,  and,  as  a  consequence, 
worshiped  manliness  ;  he  envied  experience 
because  his  own  had  hitherto  been  narrow,  and, 
above  all  things,  he  admired  and  revered  talent 
in  others  because,  as  yet,  his  own  was  unrecog- 
nized even  by  himself.  It  was  not  the  mere 
convenience  of  having  an  interpreter  which  had 
moved  him  to  share  his  quarters  with  this 
stranger;  something  told  him  that  this  was  no 
ordinary  character,  though  no  premonition,  how- 
ever faint,  of  what  they  were  to  mean  to  each 
other  in  the  future,  that  theirs  was  to  be  a  love 
"passing  the  love  of  women,"  to  undergo  the 
most  trying  of  tests  and  to  come  off  victorious 
over  all,  was  granted  to  him  then.  He  felt  him- 
:lf  won  from  his  accustomed  reticence,  however, 
and  continued  warmly,  — 

"  I  think  you  will  like  Ecouen  ;  it  is  certainly 


CHUMS.  IS 

unlike  any  of  the  other  suburbs  of  Paris,  and 
any  other  place  that  I  was  ever  in ;  it  is  simply 
a  quaint  little  village,  dropped  down  almost 
unchanged  from  medieval  times.  The  streets, 
,,  as  you  see,  run  steeply  up-hill,  or  dive  abruptly 
down ;  they  wind,  and  double,  and  zig-zag,  and 
lose  themselves  in  picturesque  court-yards,  which 
make  delicious  backgrounds  ;  they  are  paved  with 
detestable  cobble-stones,  that  wear  out  one's 
shoes,  and  murder  one's  corns;  the  sidewalks  are 
none  of  the  cleanest,  and  the  dinners  cooking 
within  doors  have  frequently  a  flavor  unaccepta- 
ble to  fastidious  noses.  The  doorsteps  them- 
selves overflow  with  babies,  whose  voices  are 
not  always  harmonious,  but  who  make  capital 
models,  as  do  those  very  old,  oddly-dressed 
grandames,  whom  you  see  hobbling  about  All 
the  people  are  so  simple-minded,  so  honest  and 
quaint,  that  one  can  scarcely  believe  that  the 
gay  capital  lies  within  ten  miles  of  us.  '  Thou 
art  so  near,  and  yet  so  far,'  I  often  sing  to  it  as 
I  see  it  hanging  over  there,  like  a  lovely  paint- 
ing, .  upon  the  southern  horizon,  for  there  is 
nothing  Parisian  here." 

"Quite  true,"  replied  Orsovitch.  "I  noticed 
as  I  came  that  even  the  railway  leaves  Ecouen  so 
far  to  one  side  that  you  get  none  of  the  noise 


1 6  BOURBON  LILIES. 

and  dust  of  the  station.  I  sent  my  luggage  on 
by  the  omnibus,  and  found  the  walk  a  very 
delightful  one.  I  certainly  am  glad  that  I  took 
it,  since  by  so  doing  I  have  found  so  pleasant  a 
companion.  But  tell  me,  are  there  many  for- 
eigners in  Ecouen  ? " 

"  Almost  every  European  nation  has  its  repre- 
sentative, and  your  especial  friends,  the  Ameri- 
cans, are  not  lacking,  but  I  think  you  will  be 
pleased  with  the  society.  I  never  saw  a  more 
harmonious  one ;  my  countrymen  hero  from 
Philadelphia  and  the  far  West  greet  each  other 

a§  old  neighbors,  and  those  from  Boston  and  New 
*ttt  r 

Orleans  forget  political  differences,  and  are  dear 
friends.  But  this  is  my  garden-gate ;  we  have  all 
of  this  rambling  house  to  divide  between  us ; 
may  your  life  here  be  a  very  pleasant  one." 

Van  found  Orsovitch  an  intelligent,  high-bred 

young  man,  connected  with  the  nobility,  talented, 

farther  on  the  road  to  art  than  himself,  helpful, 

and  thoroughly  companionable.     His  knowledge 

of   English  was  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune 

to  the   young  American,  who   was   continually 

making  blunders,  which  even  the  good  nature  of 

v'  Orsovitch  could  only  regard  as  "  something  quite 

»     impossible."       On   the   day   of    his   coming  to 

Ecouen,  being  of  an  economical  turn  of  mind, 


CHUMS.  17 

and  having  been  advised  by  an  old  traveler  to 
always  journey  third-class,  he  so  clearly  explained 
himself  to  the  station-master,  that,  instead  of 
one  third-class  ticket,  which  he  supposed  he 
asked  for,  he  was  handed  three  first-class  ones, 
stamped,  dated,  and  not  exchangeable.  Dear, 
gentle,  cordial  Madame  Frere  endured  tortures, 
in  her  polite  attempts  to  understand  him.  One 
day  he  remarked  that  he  thought  Orsovitch  must 
have  been  a  fumiste  all  his  life,  meaning,  of 
course,  fumcur ;  and  it  was  not  until  Orsovitch 
himself  explained  the  mistake,  that  Van  under- 
stood that  he  had  denominated  his  aristocratic 
friend  as  something  not  far  removed  from  a 
chimney-sweep,  when  he  only  wished  to  say  that 
he  was  a  great  smoker.  He  meant  to  tell 
Madame  Frere,  at  that  first  dinner  at  her  house, 
that  the  sauce  with  which  the  ragout  was  served 
was  so  delicious  that  he  could  have  eaten  her 
great  Angora  cat  with  it,  but  instead  of  this,  he 
remarked  that  he  had  quite  as  lief  eat "  Chiffon  " 
as  that  mess.  As  his  friend  said,  it  was  impossi- 
ble, but  Orsovitch  understood  him  through  all, 
and  received  his  most  preposterous  blunders 
with  polite  good  humor. 

They   painted,    read,    and    rambled    together, 
going  through  a  history  of   France  during  the 


1 8  BOURBON   LILIES. 

evenings,  and  in  their  daily  tramps  "  doing  "  all 
the  castles,  ruins,  churches,  and  other  places  of 
interest  within  a  radius  of  twenty  miles,  —  all 
but  Ecouen's  proudest  glory,  the  Chateau  de 
Montmorenci,  which  has  gathered  this  village, 
and  twenty  others  which  once  owned  the  great 
Duke's  sway,  "  under  its  wings,  as  a  hen  gathers 
her  chickens."  It  was  a  matter  of  great  regret 
to  them,  that  this  they  could  not  obtain  per- 
mission to  explore.  They  tormented  themselves 
by  reading  of  the  treasures  of  art  stored  there : 
faience,  by  Palissy,  trodden  under  foot  like 
common  tiling ;  and  copies  of  Raphael's  frescoes 
of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  paneled  over  as  unfit  for 
pure  eyes  to  look  upon.  For,  since  the  time  of 
Napoleon,  the  chateau  has  been  occupied  by 
the  School  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  They 
made  sketches  of  the  exterior  from  every  point 
of  view,  and  raged  and  fumed  to  no  purpose,  for 
the  chateau  looked  down  upon  them  as  calmly 
inaccessible  as  it  did  upon  the  Huguenots  in  the 
days  of  the  great  Constable,  and  the  Bourbon 
Prince  de  Conde  could  hardly  have  looked  back 
upon  it  more  longingly  from  exile  after  the  lilies 
of  his  family  were  forbidden  to  bloom  upon  its 
stately  heights. 

They  borrowed  every  old  chronicle  and  manu- 


CHUMS.  19 

script  bearing  upon  its  early  history,  and  eagerly 
devoured  all  the  annals  of  the  Montmorenci 
family,  for  the  background  of  history  against 
which  Ecouen  is  set  is  a  glorious  one.  The 
dramas  that  have  been  enacted  in  the  old  castle 
by  royal  and  princely  personages  form  many 
chapters  of  state  history  and  volumes  of  tragedy. 
The  private  stories  of  the  more  unassuming 
houses  are  scarcely  less  interesting;  many  of 
them  are  as  old  as  the  great  chestnut  tree  in  the 
Square,  to  which  the  Chevalier  Bayard  fastened 
his  horse  while  making  a  call  on  the  young 
ladies  at  the  castle.  I  am  no  antiquarian;  the 
story  I  have  to  tell  is  of  the  Ecouen  of  to- 
day, which  is  wholly  given  over  to  artists  of 
different  schools  and  departments.  Historical 
painters  pore  over  musty  records,  and  unfold 
precious  costumes  in  ancient  stuffs.  Animal 
painters  establish  themselves  in  immense  barns, 
where  sheep,  horses,  and  calves  find  themselves 
at  home  by  the  side  of  precious  canvases.  Por- 
tiait  painters  study  the  human  face.  Land- 
scapists  dot  the  meadows  with  huge,  white 
umbrellas.  Decorative  artists  spread  lovely 
flowers  broadcast  on  fresco,  or  strew  them 
daintily  on  exquisite  fans.  There  is  a  marine 
painter,  though  no  ocean,  then  there  are  several 


20  BOURBON   LILIES. 

architects,  a  sculptor  or  so,  etchers  and  litho- 
graphers, illustrators,  and  the  omnivorous  student. 
Thank  Heaven,  as  yet,  there  is  no  painter  of 
nudities !  With  all  this  variety,  Edouard  Frere 
is  still  the  leading  spirit,  and  the  style  most 
cultivated  is  genre,  the  sympathetic  painting  of 
simple  subjects  from  lowly  life,  children  or  old 
people,  for  the  most  part,  so  grouped  as  to  tell  a 
story  which  shall  touch  the  fancy  or  the  heart. 
My  story,  like  the  paintings  of  this  school,  deals 
with  plain  and  common  people,  striving  to  show 
something  of  the  tenderness  and  the  heroism, 
the  goodness  and  nobility,  of  commonness,  for — 

"  Art  may  tell  a  truth 
Obliquely,  as  the  thing  shall  breed  the  thought. 

So  may  you  paint  your  pictures,  twice  show  truth, 
Beyond  mere  imagery  on  the  wall. 
So  write  a  book  shall  mean  beyond  the  facts, 
Suffice  the  eye  and  save  the  soul  beside."  ^ 

It  tells  only  the  lives  of  two  artists,  and  of  a 
few  peasant  models,  with  all  their  grinding  toil 
and  simple  pleasures,  —  a  side  of  artistic  life 
which  I  have  never  seen  in  print,  —  and  one  other 
life,  of  which  I  may  say,  as  a  celebrated  artist 
has  said  of  his  work,  "It  is  a  dumb,  noiseless, 
silent  story,  told  as  best  it  may  be  by  the  author 
to  those  whom  it  may  concern.  And  it  does  tell 
its  story.  Not  to  everybody.  But  to  somebody" 


EULALIE:  A  TREASURE  TROVE.      23 

because  the  woman  who  bore  it  was  a  scandal- 
loving  old  soul,  more  certain  to  hear  and  report 
the  latest  gossip  than  the  daily  newspaper. 

"  If  we  could  only  get  young  girls  to  pose  for 
us,  but  they  are  not  to  be  had  for  love  or  money. 
To  be  sure,  I  have  offered  only  the  latter  induce- 
ment as  yet,  though  I  don't  know  but  I  shall  be 
driven  to  trying  the  first  if  every  other  expedient 
fails." 

As  Orsovitch  spoke,  the  young  men  were 
standing  for  the  hundredth  time  in  front  of  the 
church,  staring  up  at  the  tantalizing  castle.  The 
sun  was  near  its  setting,  and  its  level  rays  fell 
upon  the  rose  window  over  the  door  of  the  church, 
lighting  it  up  till  it  flamed  a  gem  "of  fifty  facets ; " 
as  the  sun  sank  lower,  spots  of  light  still  swam 
upon  the  window,  like  flakes  of  gold-leaf  slowly 
melting  into  the  dead,  sea-water  color  of  the 
glass.  The  cool  afternoon  breeze  lightly  lifted 
and  let  fall  the  branch  of  box  tied  to  St.  Acceul's 
sculptured  hand,  as  though  he  were  sprinkling 
holy  water  on  the  worshipers  leaving  the  door, 
or  gently  beckoning  them  to  enter. 

"  Let  us  go  in  and  look  at  the  windows,"  said 
Orsovitch,  "the  stained  glass  here  is  of  the  same 
period  as  that  in  the  castle ;  let  us  be  thankful 
that  the  church  at  least  is  open  to  us  " 


24  BOURBON  LILIES. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Van,  "I  saw  a  notice 
posted  in  a  window  at  Vilier  le  Bel,  the  other 
day,  which  may  be  exactly  your  affair :  '  Id  on 
pose  les  eccltsiastiques. '  I  did  not  know  before  that 
models  made  a  specialty  of  representing  church 
characters,  though  I  was  acquainted  with  a  young 
man  in  Paris  who  made  a  reputation  by  sustain- 
ing the  attitude  required  for  the  crucifixion,  till 
finally  he  posed  for  nothing  else.  Perhaps  all 
the  saints  of  the  calendar  are  included  in  this 
notice ;  i£  so,  some  inspired  St.  Cecilia  or  pretty 
little  St.  Catharine  would  not  come  amiss  just 
now  as  a  change." 

"  Ignoramus,"  said  Orsovitch  laughing,  "  I  saw 
that  placard  ;  it  is  'Id  on  pose  Jlastiques,"  and  has 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  models."  As  he 
spoke  they  entered  the  church  and  stood  admiring 
the  windows  gorgeous  with  renaissance  saints, 
bordered  with  the  arms  of  the  Prince  de  Conde, 
the  purple  fleur  de  Us.  Suddenly  Orsovitch 
caught  his  companion's  arm,  with  the  exclama- 
tion, "  By  Jove !  what  a  heavenly  face !  "  He 
pointed  to  a  window  on  the  left  of  the  altar, 
which  represented  Louise  de  Coligny  with  her 
sisters,  —  "The  Montmorenci  girls,"  as  Van  fa- 
miliarly called  them,  —  on  their  knees  before  Our 
Lady  of  Seven  Sorrows.  The  Virgin  was  stand- 


EULALIE:  A  TREASURE  TROVE.      25 

ing,  draped  in  a  mantle  and  flowing  robe  of  violet 
blue  ;  there  was  white  drapery  about  the  face  and 
the  mantle  was  thrown  veil-like  over  the  head ; 
her  heart,  pin-cushion  like,  was  the  receptacle  of 
seven  huge  swords.  Whatever  the  expression  of  the 
face  had  been,  it  was  indistinguishable  now  from 
age  and  from  the  ill-treatment  which  the  window 
had  received,  and  Van,  much  surprised  at  his 
friend's  extravagant  exclamation,  replied  indiffer- 
ently that  it  was  an  interesting  piece  of  art. 

"Art!"  reiterated  Orsovitch,  "it  is  no  such 
thing ;  it  is  a  most  unconscious  bit  of  nature. 
Hush  !  she  will  hear  you  ;  she  is  rising." 

Then  for  the  first  time  Van  noticed  that  they 
were  not  alone  in  the  church.  A  kneeling  figure 
rose,  glided  down  the  aisle  past  them  and  out  at 
the  door.  But  in  the  one  rapid  glance  they 
caught,  each  saw  a  strange  resemblance  in  the 
sweet,  serious  face  to  that  of  Mary's  in  another 
window  of  the  little  church, — the  Mary  of  the 
Adoration  in  the  Raphael  window,  —  a  face  such 
as  Mary's  must  have  been  before  the  cruel  swords 
pierced  through  her  soul.  Not  yet  the  lady  of 
sorrows,  but  a  calm  girlish  countenance,  though 
already  there  seemed  to  rest  upon  it  a  shadow  of 
suffering,  the  premonition  of  pain. 

"  I  must  paint  that  girl,"  said  Orsovitch,  as  he 
4 


26  BOURBON   LILIES. 

dashed  out  of  the  church  and  followed  her.  They 
had  not  far  to  go,  for  she  entered  a  wee  sparrow- 
box  of  a  shop  fronting  the  village  place,  on  which 
stood  the  church,  and  bearing  the  word  Modes 
above  the  door.  They  found  her  seated  behind 
the  tiny  counter,  with  her  lap  full  of  gay  flowers. 
An  erect,  well-preserved  woman,  whom  they  took 
at  the  time  to  be  her  mother,  but  who  proved  to 
be  her  aunt,  came  forward.  Her  flashing  eye 
told  of  a  violent  temper,  and  Van  wondered  at 
the  courage  which  Orsovitch  displayed  in  stating 
his  errand.  The  woman  did  not,  on  the  whole, 
seem  displeased  ;  to  judge  from  her  face  it  was  a 
request  which  had  been  preferred  often  before, 
but  there  seemed  some  especial  reason  for  listen- 
ing to  it  now. 

The  little  modiste  looked  up  in  a  quick, 
frightened  way.  "  Oh  !  no,  no,"  pleaded  she  with 
her  aunt.  "  Ame'de'e  would  not  like  it. " 

"  How  much  will  you  pay  her  ? "  asked  the 
other. 

"  Five  francs  a  day,  as  long  as  she  cares  to 
come.  1  should  like  to  engage  mademoiselle  for 
the  entire  summer,  if  that  were  possible,  and  we 
should  be  happy  to  have  you  accompany  her, 
madame,  if  mademoiselle  objects  to  visiting  alone 
the  studio  of  two  young  artists." 


EULALIE:  A  TREASURE  TROVE.      2? 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  little  modiste  mare  decidedly 
than  ever ;  "  I  cannot  go  under  any  conditions  ; 
please  do  not  urge  me  any  more,  it  is  quite 
impossible." 

"  It  is  quite  impossible  to  decide  the  matter  so 
hurriedly,"  said  hef  aunt;  "you  must  give  us 
time  to  talk  it  over  and  think  about  it.  Eulalie 
is  a  good  girl,  and  she  will  do  what  is  right  in  the 
matter.  If  she  concludes  to  come,  could  you  not 
arrange  it  so  that  it  should  not  be  known  in  the 
village  ?  Eulalie  has  never  posed,  and  if  she 
should  do  so  now,  there  would  be  no  end  of 
scandalous  talk  about  it." 

"  It  can  be  managed  very  easily,  madame," 
replied  Orsovitch.  And,  indeed,  their  studio 
offered  them  peculiar  advantages  for  this  purpose. 
It  was  situated  in  a  large  unoccupied  house, 
whose  front  gate  opened  on  the  extreme  end  of 
the  village  street.  They  had  a  magnificent  but 
neglected  garden,  which  ran  far  back  into  the 
meadows.  All  around,  protecting  it  after  the 
French  fashion  from  the  gaze  of  the  outside  world, 
was  a  high  stone  wall,  and  at  the  end  of  the 
garden  leading  to  the  meadows  was  a  little  gate. 
The  key  to  this  gate  Orsovitch  now  handed 
Eulalie,  telling  her  how  she  might  reach  it  unob- 
served by  making  the  circuit  of  the  village,  if, 


28  BOURBON   LILIES. 

after  taking  two  days  to  consider  the  matter,  she 
decided  to  accept  his  offer. 

"  What  a  jolly  lark  this ! "  said  Van  to  Orso- 
vitch,  as  he  helped  him  oil  the  rusty  lock  of  the 
little  gate  the  next  morning ;  "  really  something 
romantic  at  last  in  this  dismally  prosaic  village." 

"No,  Gazette"  (this  from  Orsovitch  to  the 
dried-up  little  old  woman  who  was  digging  dande- 
lions for  her  rabbits  in  the  meadows),  "  I  shall  not 
want  you  to  pose  this  week,  and  probably  not 
next.  I  will  call  and  let  you  know  when  I  do 
want  you.  I  say,  Van,  don't  you  wish  she  were 
coming  to-day  ?  And  meantime,  what  shall  we 
do  ?  for  I  can't  bear  to  paint  from  another  model, 
now  that  I  have  had  a  glimpse  of  that  divine  face. 
I  will  go  and  make  a  landscape  study  somewhere, 
and  call  on  some  of  the  other  artists  on  my  way 
home,  and  inquire  if  we  have  not,  without  know- 
ing it,  left  some  place  of  interest  unexplored, 
especially  to  make  to-morrow  pass  less  weari- 
somely." 

After  Orsovitch  had  gone,  it  occurred  to  Van, 
as  he  reviewed  the  adventure  of  the  day  previous, 
that  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  Pere  Paquerette 
(a  withered  old  man  who  not  unfrequently  posed 
for  him)  in  a  room  at  the  back  of  the  little  shop. 
He  was  eating  a  dish  of  soup,  and  appeared  to 


EULALIE:  A  TREASURE  TROVE.      2Q 

be  at  home.  If  so,  Van  felt  that  he  had  a  clue  to 
Eulalie's  family  history  in  a  rambling  talk  which 
the  old -man  had  given  him  the  autumn  before. 
As  he  played  in  an  idle  way  with  the  picture 
upon  his  easel,  the  incident  of  that  day  came 
back  to  him  like  a  dream  picture,  and  taking  up 
another  panel  he  sketched  a  capital  caricature  of 
Pere  Paquerette,  enveloping  him  in  a  gray  coat, 
or  redingote  grise,  an  article  of  clothing  which  he 
never  saw  without  being  reminded  of  the  old 
model. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE   KEDINGOTE   GRISE. 

The  mossy  marbles  rest 

On  the  lips  that  he  has  pressed 

In  their  bloom ; 

And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

On  the  tomb. 

O.  W.  HOLMES. 

*  I  ""HE  day  that  Van  recalled  was  a  transition  one 
in  the  previous  autumn.  October's  dying 
breath  lingered  in  the  atmosphere,  blending 
and  harmonizing  the  exquisite  French  landscape, 
making  him  understand  the  delicate  grays  which 
her  artists  love  so  well  to  render.  And  yet  bleak 
November  had  at  twelve  o'clock  the  night  before 
given  the  fields  his  rude  greeting  kiss,  leaving 
them  blanched  with  dismay,  while  the  falling 
leaves  blushed  red  at  his  impertinence. 

The  sun  had  melted  the  thin  rime  of  frost,  and 
it  sparkled  now  in  myriad  tear-drops  .on  every 
doomed  blade  and  leaf.  "  All  flesh  is  grass," 
Van  said  to  himself,  as  he  brushed  his  way 

(30) 


THE   REDINGOTE   GRISE.  31 

rapidly  through  the  meadows.  "  It  will  be  our 
turn  soon,  little  merry  green  men  ;  thank  God 
there  is  a  resurrection  for  us  both."  He  was  on 
his  way  to  the  village  burying-ground,  and  this 
was  why  his  thoughts  took  so  funereal  a  turn,  for 
it  was  the  Fete  des  Morts,  the  day  on  which,  as 
his  morning  paper  had  Frenchily  informed  him, 
the  Parisians  put  the  last  touch  to  the  "  toilet  of 
the  tombs  " — the  "trousseaux  of  the  dead."  It 
was  the  day  which,  strangely  enough,  has  been 
appropriated  generally  to  the  dead  throughout 
nations  differing  widely  in  customs  and  in  forms 
of  religion :  the  English  Eve  of  All  Souls,  and 
the  weird  Hallow-een  of  the  Scotch.  In  France 
it  is  celebrated  by  decking  with  flowers,  for  the 
last  time  in  the  year,  the  graves  of  the  loved  and 
lost.  A  good-by  kiss,  as  it  were,  before  they 
are  left  a^one  for  the  long  winter  to  bitter  moan- 
ing winds  and  pitiless  falling  rain.  The  Ecouen 
church-yard  was  a  true  God's-acre  in  point  of 
size,  sown  so  thickly  with  graves  that  friends 
might  have  realized  one  of  Victor  Hugo's  beauti- 
ful ideas,  and  clasped  hands  as  they  lay  under 
the  daisies,  silently  caressing  them  in  the  dark 
ness.  Only  a  little  church-yard  filled  with  simple 
village  folk.  The  great  Abbey  of  St.  Denis,  that 
magnificent  sepulchre  of  kings,  lay  not  far  away, 


32  BOURBON   LILIES. 


making    a    picturesque    spot    in   the   landscape. 
But  the  royal  dead  kept  their  own  society,  as 
apart  in  death  as  in  life  from  the  simple  people 
here.       Van    was  too    early  for  the  procession 
which   was   coming    presently   to   decorate   the 
graves,   and   he  leaned   idly   against   the   stone 
wall,  looking  away  at  the  Abbey  of  St.  Denis 
and    the    beautiful    panorama    which    stretched 
behind  it,  for  Paris  with  all  her  palaces  lay  there, 
her   domes   and  spires  seeming  to  float  in  the 
purple  haze,  through  which  rose  a  city  without 
foundations,  it  seemed  as  beautiful  and  ethereal 
as  the  Celestial  City  itself.     Conspicuous  above 
all  was  the  gilded  dome  of  the  Invalides.     Van 
was   in  a  fault-finding   mood,  and  for   him   the 
brilliant  bubble  spoiled  the  whole  landscape.     In 
his  walk  that  morning  he  had  passed  a  fine  old 
mansion,  not  a  chateau,  but  a  house  such  as  the 
lesser    nobility    would    not   have    disdained    to 
inhabit.    It  had  been  sacked  and  destroyed  during 
the  Revolution,  but  the  walls  would  have  been 
picturesque  and  noble  in  their  ruirfe,  had  it  not 
been  that  sacrilegious  hands  had  used  the  entire 
fagade  as  a  bulletin-board,  covering  it  with  flaring 
posters  and  gaudy  announcements  of  fetes.    Cov- 
ering a    number  of   others  was  an  overcoat  of 
hideous  pattern,  the  sign  of  a  well-known  shop  in 


THE   REDINGOTE  GRISE.  33 

Paris.  Van  knew  that  the  redingote  grise  was 
one  of  the  distinctive  peculiarities  of  Napoleon's 
costume,  and  in  an  unreasoning  way  connected 
him  with  the  insult  done  the  noble  house.  "  What 
had  he  done  for  the  poorer  classes  toward 
enlightening  the  ignorance  which,  with  grinding 
poverty,  drove  them  to  such  mad  outbursts  of 
fury  ? "  His  order,  "  Gild  the  dome  of  the  Inva- 
lides,"  came  like  an  answer  to  Van's  question. 
The  gold  which  should  have  been  expended  in 
food  for  his  overworked,  underfed  people  was 
spread  upon  that  glittering  bauble,  and  all  at 
once  the  sight  grew  loathsome  to  him.  Be  it 
remembered  that  Van  was  .a  Radical  Republican  ; 
for  him  there  was  but  one  form  of  government 
for  every  people,  and  he  especially  disliked  any- 
thing which  suggested  Napoleon  or  his  dynasty. 

He  was  roused  from  his  reverie  by  the  pro- 
cession which  now  entered  the  cemetery,  mumb- 
ling a  chant  for  the  dead.  There  was  the  usual 
number  of  unspiritual-looking  priests  in  tarnished 
gold  and  dirty  lace.  A  slight  disturbance  oc- 
curred at  the  gate,  for  the  boy  wich  the  holy- 
water  pot  was  missing.  Another  altar  boy  was 
dispatched  in  search  of  him,  and,  finding  the 
delinquent  sauntering  leisurely  along,  examining 
the  decorations  with  the  eye  of  a  connoisseur, 
5 


34  BOURBON   LILIES. 


he  brought  him  back  to  the  priest,  who  curled  his 
ears  smartly  with  his  breviary,  and  proceeded 
with  the  necessary  sprinkling.  All  this  without 
the  slightest  interruption  of  the  chant ;  indeed,  the 
blows  descended  somewhat  as  the  baton  of  a 
singing-master  might  have  done,  — 

Ora  pro  no—  whack  — 
Maria  sanctis —  whack. 

After  the  ecclesiastics  came  the  men,  and  then 
the  women  all  in  black.  Silently  each  sought  her 
grave,  and  prayerfully  knelt  beside  her  dead. 
Only  one  old  man  seemed  not  at  home  here,  and 
wandered  aimlessly  about  like  Van  himself.  It 
was  the  old  model,  Pere  Paquerette.  There  were 
two  versions  as  to  how  he  came  by  his  name. 
One  was  that  as  his  wits  were  shaken,  a  young 
English  artist  had  nicknamed  him  Father  Dazy ; 
and  the  village  people  had  asked  the  meaning  of 
the  word  of  some  other  English-speaking  person, 
who,  not  knowing  the  circumstances,  and  mis- 
taken by  the  sound,  had  told  them  it  was  paquc- 
rette,  the  common  field  daisy.  The  other  explana- 
tion, and  the  one  which  Van  preferred,  was  that 
the  old  man's  white  hair  falling  from  his  bald 
crown,  resembling  the  petals  of  the  flower,  had 
suggested  the  name.  He  looked  dazed  and 
bewildered  enough  now,  however,  as  he  wandered 


THE  REDINGOTE  GRISE.  35 

among  the  graves,  whimpering,  "I  can't  find 
them ;  O,  sacred  heart  of  the  Mother  of  God !  I 
can't  find  them."  Presently  he  knelt  before  a 
grave  over  which  a  little  chapel  of  ground  glass 
had  been  built,  sheltering  a  small  image  of  the 
Virgin  and  a  wreath  of  orange  blossoms,  —  not  a 
funeral  wreath,  by  any  means,  but  just  such  an 
one  as  a  Parisian  modiste  would  have  prepared 
for  a  bride.  Perhaps  she  was  a  bride,  poor  young 
thing,  for  the  age  marked  upon  the  tablet  was 
eighteen.  Van  wondered  what  relation  she  could 
have  been  to  this  old  man,  —  his  daughter,  per- 
haps. 

The  ceremonies  were  over,  and  the  people  were 
leaving  the  church-yard.  A  woman  passing 
noticed  Pere  Paquerette,  and  shook  him  roughly 
by  the  shoulder.  "  But  that  is  not  your  grave !  " 
she  exclaimed  ;  "  come  along  with  me  and  I  will 
put  you  right." 

"  Is  not  that  Josephine  Hautcoeur's  grave  ? " 
asked  the  old  man. 

"  The  Marchioness  de  Plaisance !  Is  it  likely 
the  noblesse  of  France  would  be  buried  in  such 
a  place  as  this  ? "  said  the  woman  scornfully. 
"  Besides,  who  knows  that  she  is  dead  ?  She  is  no 
older  than  yourself.  It  is  over  sixty  years  since 
she  left  the  village,"  the  woman  added  to  Van, 


BOURBON   LILIES. 


"  but  Pere  Paquerette  never  lets  us  forget  that  she 
lived  here  once." 

"  She  died  for  me  the  day  that  she  was  mar- 
ried," muttered  the  old  model,  as  the  woman 
stationed  him  before  a  stone  upon  whose  moss- 
Sjown  front  Van  read  in  French  : — 


To  ANTOINE  ROCHE, 

Corporal 

—  Regiment  of  Grenadiers, 

Old  Guard, 

ist  Empire ; 

and  Chevalier  of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 

Died 

at  the  Hotel  des  Invalides, 
August  Qth,  1840. 


And  to  CONSTANT,  his  son, 
killed  at  Sebastopol, 
September  igth,  1855. 


And  to  JOSEPHINE  DUVAL, 

nee  Roche,  his  daughter, 

killed  at  Paris, 

April  I5th,  1871. 


There  were  other  inscriptions,  but  the  stone  had 
so  sunken  into  the  earth  that  Van  could  not  read 
them.  On  the  head  of  this  stone  Pere  Paquerette 
hung  a  garland  of  yellow  immortelles,  among 
which  black  ones  were  so  intertwined  as  to  form 
the  words  "A  mon  phe"  Bending  a  branch  of 
willow  over  one  of  the  graves,  he  suspended  from 
its  centre  a  small  medallion  of  stained  glass  on 
which  clasped  hands  were  rudely  represented. 
Beneath,  on  the  grave  itself,  lay  a  wreath  of 
camellias,  showing  that  some  one  had  been  here 
before. 

"So  your  father  died  at  the  Invalides,"  Van 
said. 


THE  REDINGOTE  GRISE.  37 

"  Yes,  m'sieu,"  replied  Pere  Paquerette,  "  bul 
he  lived  there  many  years  first,  and  so  did 
Josephine  Hautcoeur's  father." 

"  And  who  was  Josephine  Hautcceur  ? "  Van 
asked. 

"My  sceur  de  lait ;  and  now  I  suppose  you 
don't  know  what  that  means,"  grumbled  the  old 
man. 

"  I  should  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  would 
explain,"  Van  replied. 

"  Well,  when  I  was  a  baby  my  mother  took  her 
to  nurse.  You  see,  my  father  was  a  soldier  in 
her  father's  regiment,  and  we  slept  in  the  same 
cradle,  and  brother  Constant  wheeled  us  out  in 
the  same  little  wagon.  He  and  all  the  family  grew 
to  love  the  gentle  little  blue-eyed  thing,  but 
sitting  opposite  to  each  other  always,  we  got  so 
used  to  looking  into  each  other's  eyes  that  she 
liked  me  best,  and  we  never  forgot  one  another." 

"  How  could  that  be,  Pere  Paquerette,"  if  you 
were  both  babies  ? "  Van  interrupted,  but  the  old 
man's  reply  was  so  pettish  that  he  let  him  ramble 
on,  fearing  to  lose  the  story  if  he  made  any 
further  objection.  The  old  model  continued  : 

"  When  she  was  old  enough  she  went  to  the 
school  that  Napoleon  made  in  the  castle  yonder 
for  the  daughters  of  his  old  soldiers.  My  sister 


38  BOURBON   LILIES. 

Josephine  was  already  there,  and  we  used  to 
hear  of  the  other  Josephine  through  her.  Our 
two  fathers  were  both  at  the  Invalides.  General 
Hautcoeur  had  lost  his  sight,  and  my  father  had 
lost  pretty  much  all  he  could  spare  and  still  live. 
When  I  visited  him  he  would  take  me  out  to  see 
his  rockery.  Almost  all  the  soldiers  had  them  :  a 
little  garden  plot  to  work  as  they  liked,  but  nearly 
all  would  have  it  arranged  in  military  fashion 
somehow.  Sometimes  it  would  be  a  tiny  fort, 
with  cannons  cut  from  wood  and  painted  black, 
mounted  on  every  side,  and  regimental  flags  cut 
from  their  handkerchiefs  and  painted  the  proper 
colors.  And  now  and  then  you  would  see  the 
whole  plan  of  a  battle-field,  with  earthworks  and 
field-pieces,  and  even  the  soldiery  themselves, 
little  wooden  pegs  stuck  in  the  sand.  My  father 
had  a  rockery  with  a  little  pond  about  it  that  was 
almost  always  dry.  He  called  it  the  Rock  at  St. 
Helena.  He  used  to  say  that  he  wanted  to  think 
of  '  him'  as  he  was,  and  he  had  a  little  silvered 
image  of  the  man  in  the  redingote  grise  on  the 
top  of  the  rockery,  which  he  worshiped  more  than 
if  it  had  been  an  image  of  the  Virgin.  How  those 
old  fellows  did  love  their  general !  You  could 
not  make  one  of  them  believe  he  was  dead. 
'One  sees  very  plainly  that  you  do  not  know 


THE   REDINGOTE   GRISE.  39 

him,'  was  all  they  would  say.  I  was  something 
of  a  poacher  in  those  days,  and  one  morning  in 
the  forest  I  found  a  tree  which  grew  so  near  the 
wall  about  the  castle  park  that  I  could  let  myself 
down  into  it  from  one  of  the  branches.  I  found 
my  sister  inside,  and  asked  her  if  she  or  the  other 
Josephine  had  any  message  to  send  to  the  Inva- 
lides,  as  I  was  going  to  see  father  in  a  few  days. 
She  told  me  to  come  again  at  moonrise,  and  they 
would  meet  me  at  the  Fountain  Hortense  in  the 
park.  The  girls  were  kept  very  strictly,  and 
this  was  a  daring  thing  for  my  sister  to  propose, 
but  it  pleased  me  all  the  better  for  that.  When 
I  reached  the  fountain,  I  saw  that  something 
unusual  was  going  on,  for  the  southern  wing, 
where  Madame  Campan's  apartments  were,  was 
all  ablaze  with  candles.  I  lay  down  in  the  grass 
and  waited  until  they  were  all  put  out,  and  others 
began  to  glimmer  in  the  chambers  under  the 
roof,  where  were  the  girls'  dormitories.  Pretty 
soon  these  too  were  gone,  and,  wondering  what 
had  kept  the  girls,  I  got  up  to  go -away.  Just 
then  two  dark  figures  slipped  from  the  Pavilion 

• 

Austerlitz  and  came  toward  me. 

" '  Is  that  you,  little  brother,'  says  Josephine 
Hautcceur.  '  Oh,  I  am  so  frightened  ! '  and  the 
hand  which  she  laid  on  my  arm  shook  like  a 


40  BOURBON  LILIES. 

trapped  bird.      Then  my  sister  explained   that 
Queen    Hortense,   whom    Napoleon    had   made 
Lady  Patroness  of  the  Institution,  and  who  lived 
sometimes  at  the  Chateau  of  St.  Leu,  not  far  off, 
had  come  unexpectedly  to  see  them,  and  there  had 
been  a  fete  in  her  honor.     '  And  all  through  the 
evening,'  said  Josephine    Hautcoeur,  'I  felt  so 
guilty !     When  we  were  in  the  Hall  of  Honor, 
the  one  that  has  the  painting  of  Esau  hunting, 
over  the  great  fire-place,  I  whispered  to  Josephine, 
See,  there  is  our  little  poacher ;  and  I  could  have 
almost  thought  Madame  Campan  heard  me,  for 
she  asked  me  directly  to  give  them  some  music. 
And  when  we  crossed  the  court  just  now,  with 
our  shoes  in  our  hands  so  as  not  to  make  any 
noise,  the  Palissy  tiles  struck  a  chill  through  my 
feet,  and  though  I  could  not  see  them  in  the 
dark,  I  knew  that  the  snakes  and  lizards  and  all 
those  slimy  things  were  there,  and  I  fancied  I 
felt  them  squirm  as  I  stepped  on  them.'   My  sister 
gave  me  her  message  for  our  father,  and  then  the 
other  Josephine  said,  'And  tell  my  father  for  me 
that  I   thank  the  Marquis  de  Plaisance  for  the 
honor  he  does  me,  but  I  can  never  be  his  wife, 
for  our  great  Napoleon  said  he  wished  all  the 
daughters  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  to  become  the 
wives  of  men  who  should  faithfully  serve  France, 


THE   REDINGOTE  GR1SE.  41 

either  in  the  army  or  in  the  administration,  and 
were  Monsieur  de  Plaisance  an  Italian  prince, 
instead  of  marquis,  I  had  rather  be  the  wife  of  a 
common  French  soldier.' 

" '  Josephine,  Josephine,'  I  cried,  '  I  am  fifteen 
years  old.  I  will  be  a  man  soon,  and  I  will  be  a 
soldier  if  you  wish.  I  have  loved  you  all  my 
life ;  only  say  you  will  wait  for  me.' 

" '  This  is  quite  enough,'  said  a  stern  voice 
above  our  heads ;  '  we  have  overheard  a  part  of 
your  interesting  conversation.' 

"  Looking  up  I  saw  two  ladies  :  the  one  who 
was  speaking,  very  grave  and  all  in  black, 
Madame  Campan ;  the  other,  all  in  white,  with  a 
mischievous  laughing  face,  Queen  Hortense.  It 
was  she  who  spoke  next,  throwing  an  arm  around 
each  of  the  girls,  —  something  about  forgiving  the 
culprits  for  the  sake  of  some  wild  pupil  of  Madame 
Campan's  in  St.  Germain-en-Laye ;  then,  without 
waiting  for  a  reply,  she  said  to  the  girls,  '  Let 
us  hurry  away  before  the  thunder-bolt  falls,'  and 
led  them  back  into  the  castle,  leaving  me  alone 
with  the  lady  superior.  I  have  no  clear  idea  of 
what  she  said  to  me ;  I  only  know  that  I  left  by 
the  great  gate,  and  that  I  promised  her  solemnly 
never  to  go  there  again.  When  I  told  my  story 
at  home,  Constant  sprang  up.  '  I  shall  enlist 
6 


42  BOURBON   LILIES. 

to-morrow,'  said  he.  '  But  you  shall  not  marry 
Josephine  Hautcosur  for  all  that,'  I  cried.  With 
that  he  called  me  baby,  and  we  quarreled  then 
and  there,  and  never  spoke  to  each  other  again." 

"  And  did  Constant  marry  Mademoiselle  Haut- 
cceur  ?  "  Van  asked. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  replied  Pere  Paquerette  ;  "  he  never 
came  back  to  us,  but  was  killed  at  the  siege  of 
Sebastopol,  as  the  stone  says." 

"  And  she  ? "  Van  asked. 

"  I  stood  behind  the  door  of  the  Madeleine  and 
saw  her  go  up  the  aisle  to  become  the  wife  of  the 
Marquis  de  Plaisance.  She  was  all  in  white,  and 
one  of  the  sprays  in  her  veil  caught  on  the  door  ; 
a  bud  broke  off.  It  was  like  the  flowers  in  the 
glass  case  on  the  grave  yonder.  I  kept  it  a 
long  while,  but  it  is  lost  now." 

"  I  see  your  sister  Josephine  was  killed,"  Van 
said,  glancing  at  the  inscription.  "  How  did  that 
happen  ? " 

"  Josephine  married  a  soldier,  and  followed  the 
army  a  long  while  as  a  nurse.  Her  husband 
was  a  good  fellow,  but  ten  years  younger  than 
Josephine,  and  a  little  giddy,  as  most  of  the 
brave  boys  are  apt  to  be.  Josephine  supported 
herself  and  her  little  girl,  and  paid  all  his  debts 
when  he  died.  Her  child  was  her  idol,  but  she 


THE   REDINGOTE   GRISE.  43 

lived  to  see  her  die,  leaving  her  a  little  grand- 
daughter. Her  son-in-law  was  a  soldier  too,  and 
very  much  such  a  man  as  her  husband  had  been, 
and  he  was  glad  enough  to  relinquish  the  baby 
to  Josephine,  when  she  gave  up  the  army  and 
became  one  of  the  nurses  at  the  Hotel  Dieu. 
As  soon  as  her  little  grand-daughter  was  old 
enough,  she  placed  her  in  a  school  for  the 
daughters  of  soldiers,  but  all  of  her  earnings 
were  saved  up  to  buy  her  presents.  She  was 
paid  very  little,  only  fifteen  francs  a  month, 
and  she  had  studied  nursing  as  a  profession 
at  the  castle,  besides  having  a  long  practical 
experience  of  it.  She  had  to  work  hard,  too, 
for  the  young  medical  students  only  visited  the 
hospital  to  make  experiments,  and  the  Sisters  of 
Charity  shirked  everything  but  praying  on  to  the 
paid  nurses.  My  father  left  her  his  rockery  when 
he  died,  and  Josephine  had  it  placed  on  a  table  in 
one  of  the  wards  to  interest  the  patients.  She  was 
known  for  a  zealous  Bonapartist,  and  at  the  time  of 
the  Commune  they  destroyed  the  rockery,  crying, 
A  bas  Napotion  !  and  tumbled  my  sister  over  the 
stairs  to  Vive  la  Rtpublique  !  She  would  not 
have  lived  much  longer,  any  way ;  she  was  an  old 
woman;  she  came  in  with  the  century.  Her 
life  was  not  harder  than  that  of  most  women. 


44  BOURBON   LILIES. 

M'sieu  the  Cur£  was  right  when  he  said  that 
woman's  lot  was  'to  love,  to  suffer,  to  weep,  to 
pray,  and  to  die  embracing  the  crucifix.'  Her 
grand-daughter's  future  is  bright  enough,  how- 
ever, thanks  to  the  Empress  Eugenie." 

"What  did  the  empress  have  to  do  with  it?" 
Van  asked,  with  the  inward  determination  to  slip 
quietly  away  and  leave  the  old  man  talking  to  the 
tombstones,  if  he  showed  signs  of  entering  into 
such  another  rambling  story. 

"  M'sieu  knows,  without  doubt,  that  when  the 
emperor  was  married  the  city  of  Paris  voted  six 
hundred  thousand  francs  to  purchase  a  necklace 
for  his  bride.  But  the  empress  asked  that  instead 
a  school  should  be  endowed  for  young  girls.  Little 
Eulalie  was  there  eight  years,  learning  her  books 
and  embroidery,  and  to  make  artificial  flowers. 
The  money  they  earn  by  their  work  during 
their  stay  is  saved  and  given  them  when  they 
leave,  at  eighteen  years  of  age,  as  a  dowry. 
When  Eulalie  left,  a  sister  of  her  father's  (he  was 
killed  at  Worth,  and  Eulalie  worships  his  memory, 
though  he  never  did  anything  for  her)  turned  up, 
and  Eulalie  lived  with  her  a  while  in  Paris,  work- 
ing at  a  wholesale  flower  establishment  there 
until  I  persuaded  them  to  come  and  set  up  a 
shop  of  their  own  here,  which  they  did,  using 


THE   REDiNGOTE  GRISE.  45 

Eulalie's  money.  There  is  no  occasion  whatever 
for  Eulalie  to  marry,  but  a  girl  as  pretty  as  she 
never  goes  long  without  a  lover.  Hers  is  well 
enough,  though  he  does  not  believe  that  a  pretty 
face  is  so  much  money  in  one's  pocket,  and  will 
never  consent  to  her  posing." 

Van  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  quite  late, 
but  the  old  man's  talk  had  given  him  plenty  to 
think  about.  In  the  first  place  the  redingote 
grise  covered  more  of  good  than  he  had  imagined, 
and  he  began  to  understand  how  certain  ideas 
and  forms  of  government  might,  while  meaning 
nothing  to  him,  be  useful  and  dear  to  others.  It 
was  his  first  lesson  in  tolerance,  and  he  did  not 
forget  it. 

"  It  was  Eulalie  who  laid  that  wreath  on  her 
grandmother's  grave,"  continued  Pere  Paquerette, 
who  had  developed  an  inexhaustible  capacity  for 
gossip,  "  and  there  would  be  as  many  as  twenty 
funeral  wreaths  over  my  father's  if  the  Prussians 
had  not  stolen  them." 

"  The  Prussians  rob  the  graves  !  What  do  you 
mean,  Pere  Paquerette  ? "  exclaimed  Van. 

"Why,  during  the  war  King  William  passed 
over  this  road,  and  the  detachment  of  German 
troops  that  were  stationed  here  wished  to  get  up 
some  decorations  in  his  honor;  but  it  was  late 


46  BOURBON  LILIES. 

in  the  fall,  and  the  flowers  were  almost  all  gone, 
so  that  the  young  officer  who  had  the  matter  in 
charge  had  scanty  material  to  work  upon.  But 
he  was  a  genius  !  What  do  you  suppose  he  did, 
sir?  He  stole  La  Gazette's  clothes-line,  and 
stretched  a  great  table-cloth  across  the  highway, 
having  first  fastened  red  tomatoes  upon  it  in  such 
a  way  as  to  form  the  words,  in  German,  'Wel- 
come King  William.'  Still  this  was  not  beautiful 
enough,  so  he  came  here  and  gathered  all  the 
wreaths  of  immortelles  that  he  could  find,  and 
made  a  border  for  his  banner  with  them,  and 
festooned  the  clothes-line  too  for  its  whole  length. 
How  we  others  did  laugh  when  we  saw  it ;  no 
one  but  a  German  would  have  thought  of  such  a 
thing." 

"But  I  should  not  have  laughed,"  Van  said 
"It  was  far  too  appropriate  —  Prussian  honors 
gained  at  the  expense  of  French  graves.  I  should 
think  the  idea  would  have  struck  the  young 
officer,  and  kept  him  from  touching  the  votive 
offerings." 

"  Something  did  frighten  him,  for  he  came  first 
at  night,  and  went  away  saying  that  he  heard  the 
dead  people  rattling  about  in  their  coffins.  But 
I  think  what  he  heard  was  the  wind  striking  the 
glass  medalions  and  jet  ornaments  against  the 


THE   REDINGOTE  GRISE.  47 

stones.  It  might  remind  one  of  the  rattling  of 
bones,  if  one  heard  it  alone  of  a  dark  night." 

"Thank  you  for  your  story,  Pere  Paquerette," 
said  Van.  "  Here  is  something  with  which  to 
buy  fresh  garlands  for  the  defrauded  graves." 

"M'sieu  is  very  kind,"  said  the  old  man, 
greedily  accepting  the  coin  Van  offered  ;  "  but  to 
me  the '  tapping  of  the  souvenirs  here  always 
seems  like  the  tinkling  of  glasses ;  and  if  m'sieu 
is  willing,  I  think  all  the  people  buried  here  would 
be  just  as  well  pleased  if  I  should  break  m'sieu's 
coin  at  the  Esptrance,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and 
drink  to  the  fourth  Napoleon." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  CHATEAU  DE  LA  CHASSE. 

Blow,bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying, 
And  answer,  echoes,  answer,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

TENNYSON. 

"  TT  7HAT,  nothing  but  that  caricature  of  Pere 
Paquerette  !  "  said  Orsovitch  in  surprise, 
as  he  threw  down  his  sketch-box  on  his  return 
from  a  day  in  the  meadows  ;  "  you  were  wont  to 
be  a  worker,  Van." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  turned  dreamer  now," 
replied  the  other.  "  Certain  it  is  that  I  have 
done  almost  nothing  to-day ;  and  the  trouble  is 
that  I  do  not  see  my  way  out  of  these  unprofitable 
musings  into  something  practicable.  I  wish  I 
had  found  a  model  like  yours,  who  could  awake 
the  slumbering  fires  of  genius  and  inspire  me  to 
work." 

"  Is  that  all  ? "  said  Orsovitch  ;  "why,  you  are 
welcome  to  sketch  the  little  modiste,  if  you  like, 

(48) 


THE  CHATEAU   DE   LA   CHASSE.  49 

while  she  is  posing  for  me.     I  don't  know  that 
I  've  got  her  yet,  so  I  can  afford  to  be  generous." 

"Really,  do  you  believe  she  will  come?" 

"  Not  a  shadow  of  doubt  of  it ;  but  prepare  for 
a  tramp  now,  for  I  have  discovered  some  uncom- 
monly fine  sketching  for  you." 

"Are  we  to  set  out  to-night  ? " 

"  No,  my  indolent  friend,  but  you  may  as  well 
get  your  knapsack  and  arrange  your  traps  now,  foi 
we  ought  to  have  an  early  start,  and  you  are  such 
a  late  sleeper  you  had  best  make  all  preparations 
overnight." 

"Where  are  we  going?  Do  you  think  we  will 
find  anything  worth  the  pains  ? "  Van  asked  in- 
credulously, without  leaving  his  comfortable  posi- 
tion in  the  hammock  swaying  under  a  chestnut 
tree  that  resembled  a  bridal  bouquet,  when  seen 
from  a  distance,  and  near  by  was  an  enormous 
hive  of  buzzing  hannetons,  or  May  bugs.  Now 
that  it  was  warm  enough  they  spent  their  evenings, 
as  a  general  thing,  in  the  garden. 

"One  question  at  a  time,"  replied  Orsovitch. 
"  I  find  that  there  is  a  marvellous  old  Chateau  de 
la  Chasse,  of  the  same  period  as  our  castle,  and 
belonging  to  it  in  by-gone  days,  buried  in  the 
depths  of  the  Foret  de  Montmorenci ;  but,  for  a 
wonder,  it  is  accessible  to  strangers ;  indeed,  there 


SO  BOURBON  LILIES. 

is  a  custodian  whose  special  business  it  is  to  show 
strangers  from  the  town  of  Montmorenci  over  the 
premises.  It  is  only  four  miles  distant,  and  we 
are  sure  to  find  something  stunning.  I  shall  use 
it  for  a  back-ground  to  a  hunting  scene,  with 
hounds  in  the  fore-ground  and  valets  in  livery." 

Early  the  next  morning  Orsovitch  was  awak- 
ened by  the  rattling  jingle  of  their  little  alarm 
clock,  and  by  Van  singing  uproariously,  — 

Voila  la  sonnette  . 

De  la  trompette, 
Qui  nous  appelle 
A  la  victoire  I  " 

This  was  the  nearest  he  ever  came  to  a  stanza 
from  a  popular  hunting  song,  the  air  of  which 
had  become  more  than  familiar  to  all  of  Van's 
friends. 

As  they  entered  the  forest  after  a  long  and 
exhilarating  walk,  they  were  somewhat  surprised 
at  hearing  the  same  air  played  finely  upon  a 
hunting  horn.  "Somebody  is  here  before  us," 
said  Orsovitch.  They  quickened  their  steps  and 
after  two  or  three  sharp  turns  in  the  road,  entered 
a  long  avenue  leading  to  the  chateau,  much  to 
their  surprise  without  seeing  the  musician  who 
had  greeted  their  entrance  to  the  forest. 

"Some  phantom  hunter,"  said  Orsovitch  gayly, 


THE  CHATEAU   DE  LA   CHASSE.  51 

"  this  wood  is  rich  enough  in  associations,  and  is 
mysterious  and  old  enough,  to  be  haunted.  Only 
look  at  the  chateau ;  is  not  that  well  worth  our 
walk  ? " 

It  was  indeed  a  massive  building  of  huge 
blocks  of  undressed  stone,  rising  at  the  corners 
into  four  round  towers,  all  but  one  left  unfinished, 
or,  more  probably,  destroyed  by  age,  for  the 
chateau  had  stood  for  nearly  four  hundred  years 
between  the  two  little  lakes  with  the  dim  forest 
all  around.  Fishing  in  a  little  boat,  a  short 
distance  from  shore,  stood  a  handsome  young 
man  of  thirty.  He  laid  down  his  rod  on  seeing 
the  artists,  rowed  quickly  to  shore,  and  approached 
them.  He  wore  a  shooting-coat  and  breeches  of 
brown  velvet,  with  silver  buttons  and  buff  chamois- 
skin  leggins.  He  might  have  been  taken  for  a 
sportsman,  were  it  not  for  the  silver  plate  upon 
his  cap,  upon  which  were  engraved  the  words 
Garde  Chasse.  He  at  once  accorded  the  young 
men  permission  to  paint  near  the  chateau,  and 
proceeded  to  show  them  the  objects  of  .interest. 
The  stables,  evidently  of  more  recent  construc- 
tion, and  containing  forty  or  fifty  stalls,  pleased 
Orsovitch.  "I  should  think  you  would  arrange 
yourself  a  room  out  here,"  said  he ;  "  the  lofts  are 
at  least  dry  and  airy,  while  that  old  tower,  with 


52  BOURBON  LILIES. 

the  water  continually  lapping  its  foot,  must  be  as 
damp  and  dismal  as  a  dungeon  keep.  I  should 
be  sure  to  get  up  some  night  and  quietly  step 
out  of  the  window  into  the  moat." 

The  guard  laughed,  but  shrugged  his  shoulders 
uneasily.  "  One  doesn't  commit  suicide  when 
one  is  happy,  monsieur,  not  even  in  one's  sleep, 
and  I  have  such  pleasant  dreams  that  I  could 
never  be  such  a  fool  as  to  disturb  myself  by 
walking." 

In  the  entrance  hall  Van  noticed  a  hunting 
horn  hanging  against  the  wall,  and  spoke  of  the 
air  which  they  had  heard  played  a  short  time 
before.  "  It  was  I,"  said  the  guard  ;  "  I  always 
liked  that  tune ;  I  used  to  play  it  for  the  boys  to 
charge  to,  when  I  was  bugler  in  the  Forty -third  ; " 
and  taking  down  the  instrument  he  made  the 
cliffs  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake  echo  back 
the  strain  — 

"  A  la  victoire  !    A  la  victoire  !  " 

"  I  always  sound  it  when  I  am  down-hearted 
and  lonesome ;  the  echo  yonder  seems  to  answer 
me  and  tell  me  to  keep  up  good  courage,  as  a 
brother  soldier  might  do  if  he  were  keeping 
vidette  out  there.  It  was  the  echo  you  heard  ;  it 
is  twenty  minutes'  walk  from  here.  I  can  hear  it 
myself  repeated  faintly  but  distinctly  several 


THE  CHATEAU  DE  LA  CHASSE.  53 

minutes  after  I  have  sounded  it.  The  boys  used 
to  go  straight  to  death  unhesitatingly  with  that 
charge  ringing  in  their  ears.  I  believe  I  could 
do  it  myself." 

Orsovitch  seemed  little  interested  in  what  the 
young  man  was  saying ;  he  was  examining  a 
curious  silver  object  which  hung  beside  the 
hunting  horn.  "  What  is  it  ? "  he  asked,  and  he 
noticed  the  name  Ame"dee  du  Lac  engraved  upon 
the  handle. 

"  That  is  a  dog-whip  which  the  Due  de  Champ- 
noix  gave  me  when  I  won  the  race  at  Long 
Champs  for  him.  I  was  his  jockey  when  I  was 
fifteen.  I  had  muscles  like  steel  wire,  but  I  was 
a  slender  little  fellow  and  did  not  weigh  anything 
to  speak  of,  and  that  was  where  Grisette  had  the 
advantage  of  the  other  horse,  whose  rider  weighed 
at  least  ten  pounds  more.  But  the  duke  kept 
me  too  well ;  I  grew  fat,  and,  a  few  years  after,  I 
became  a  soldier ;  that  thinned  me  down  quickly 
enough,  I  assure  you.  There  is  only  one  thing  at 
all  peculiar  about  that  whip  ;  touch  this  spring  in 
the  handle,  so,  and  out  pops  this  knife,  stiletto 
fashion.  It  is  the  only  weapon  I  ever  carry, 
but  with  it  and  the  help  of  Mees  there,  I  should 
not  be  afraid  of  a  tussle  with  any  poacher  in  the 
forest." 


54  BOURBON   LILIES. 

Me*es  was  a  large  white  bull-dog,  which  fol- 
lowed its  master,  snuffing  suspiciously  at  the 
artists'  heels. 

"  You  have  given  your  dog  an  odd  name,"  said 
Van. 

"It  is  English,  is  it  not?"  replied  the  guard; 
" they  told  me  it  meant  demoiselle" 

"  He  means  Miss,"  said  Orsovitch ;  "  it  is  a  very 
common  name  with  the  French  for  their  dogs." 

While  speaking  the  guard  led  them  from  room 
to  room  of  the  chateau,  all  empty  and  desolate  till 
they  reached  the  one  in  the  tower,  whose  window 
looked  down  upon  the  lake  they  had  already 
remarked  from  the  exterior.  Here  were  collected 
all  the  antique  pieces  of  furniture  found  in  the 
other  apartments.  As  the  chairs  and  fauteuils 
were  upholstered  in  different  materials  and  colors, 
for  the  most  part  faded  and  tattered,  the  guard 
had  covered  them  all  with  white  linen,  which 

* 

comported  well  with  the  character  of  the  room, 
the  carved  panneling  of  which  had  been  origi- 
nally painted  white,  though  age  had  given  it 
a  very  soft  and  agreeable  creamy  tint.  The 
chimney-piece,  which  reached  the  ceiling,  was  of 
white  stone,  richly  sculptured  in  bas-relief  and 
supported  by  twisted  columns.  On  the  opposite 
side  of  the  room  stood  the  bed,  its  soft  white 


THE   CHATEAU   DE  LA   CHASSE  55 

curtains  floating  down  from  a  gilded  crown-shaped 
canopy.  A  console-table,  in  the  style  of  Louis 
XIV.,  with  high  mirror  and  white  wood  work 
carved  in  mazes  of  knotted  and  looped  garlands, 
stood  on  one  side  of  the  window,  an  inlaid  ivory 
cabinet  of  Italian  workmanship  upon  the  other. 
Before  the  bed,  upon  the  floor,  which  was  waxed 
till  it  shone  like  a  mirror,  reflecting  each  object 
as  perfectly  as  the  surface  of  a  lake,  lay  a  bit  of 
old  tapestry,  the  figures  in  faded  blue  upon  a 
white  ground.  White  curtains  hid  the  window 
which  occupied  the  bay  formed  by  the  tower. 

"This  was  the  Prince  de  Conde's  chamber," 
said  the  guide. 

"  I  should  have  thought  it  some  lady's  room,' 
Van  replied  ;  "  are  you  not  mistaken,  could  it  not 
have  belonged  to  his  wife  ?  I  should  have 
thought  Charlotte  de  Montmorenci  might  have 
had  a  taste  for  hunting  and  hard  riding  even 
before  her  elopement  What  do  you  think, 
Orsovitch  ? " 

"  I  do  not  think  a  girl  of  her  tempeVament 
would  have  liked  such  a  room,"  he  replied.  "  Her 
boudoir  should  have  been  wainscotted  with  rose- 
colored  satin.  This  is  too  cold  ;  it  reminds  me  of 
one  of  the  snow  palaces  at  St.  Petersburg.  See ! 
that  chandelier  with  the  crystal  pendants,  in  the 


BOURBON  LILIES. 


middle  of  the  room,  carries  out  the  idea  ;  it  is  a 
great  glittering  stalactite,  and  those  smaller  can- 
delabra on  either  side  of  the  door  are  icicles 
formed  from  water  trickling  through  crevices. 
Ugh  !  it  freezes  me.  I  should  not  think  any 
woman  could  bear  to  stay  here." 

"  Not  with  the  man  she  loved  ?  "  asked  the 
guard,  with  strange  earnestness. 

"  Perhaps,"  laughed  Orsovitch,  "  but  she  would 
have  to  love  you  very  much,  mon  enfant.  Such 
devotion  on  the  part  of  woman  has  never  come 
into  my  life.  I  congratulate  you  if  you  have 
found  it.  But  seriously,  all  women  love  bright 
hues,  they  are  artistic  in  their  nature,  and  there 
is  not  one  positive  bit  of  color  in  this  room." 

"  Oh  !  yes  there  is,"  replied  the  guard,  and  he 
drew  aside  the  window  curtains,  and  suddenly  all 
the  floor  was  flecked  with  purple  spots,  for  the 
window  was  bordered  with  the  arms  of  the  Prince 
de  Conde  in  the  stained  glass.  It  was  as  though 
the  fleur  de  Us,  having  once  taken  root,  had  be- 
come indigenous  to  the  soil  and  blossomed  from 
every  crevice  of  the  old  buildings  which  had  once 
recognized  it  as  an  emblem  of  royalty. 

Orsovitch  grasped  his  friend's  arm  impulsively. 
"This  is  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life,  Van  !  If  I  were  a  spiritualist  I  should  think 


THE  CHATEAU   DE  LA   CHASSE.  57 

some  fearful  crime  had  been  committed  in  this 
room  ;  just  look  at  that  bed ! " 

Van  looked  for  some  time  without  grasping  his 
meaning,  for  he  saw  only  that  the  coverlet  was 
sown  thick  with  nickering  Bourbon  lilies,  when 
suddenly  in  their  midst,  in  vivid  scarlet,  there 
flamed  distinctly  a  gallows.  Van  looked  to  the 
window  to  see  what  occasioned  the  strange  appear- 
ance, and  found  the  explanation  simple  enough. 
The  centre  of  the  window  had  been  formed  of 
four  scarlet  panes,  so  arranged  as  to  form  a  cross  ; 
two  of  these,  the  head  and  one  cross-piece,  having 
been  broken,  were  replaced  with  transparent 
glass,  so  that  the  remaining  colored  panes  —  the 
standard  and  cross-piece,  with  the  bit  of  lead 
connecting  the  two  —  formed  the  disagreeable 
sign  which  had  startled  Orsovitch. 

Van  pointed  this  out,  and  added  in  English, 
"  For  Heaven's  sake  do  not  say  a  word  more,  or 
the  crime  will  be  committed  now  and  here  by 
our  friend  the  guard.  You  have  already  twice 
mortally  offended  him,  and  he  looks  angry  enough 
to  throttle  you  and  relish  the  operation." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  replied  Orsovitch,  "  I  will 
take  away  the  exciting  cause ;  his  society  is  not 
so  agreeable  that  I  should  be  wasting  my  time 
in  it,"  and  saying  something  in  French  about  its 


BOURBON   LILIES. 


being  high  time  his  sketch  was  laid  in,  he  clattered 
noisily  down-stairs,  whistling  "A  la  victoire"  as 
he  went.  This  was  so  different  from  his  usual 
polite  manner  that  Van  noted  it  with  mild  sur- 
prise ;  there  seemed  to  be  something  antagonistic 
in  the  very  natures  of  the  two  men. 

"Your  friend  is  right,"  said  the  guard  moodily; 
"he  knows  women  better  than  I  do,  and  the 
room  is  not  gay.  I  might  hang  a  bird-cage  with 
a  couple  of  canaries  here,  that  would  give  her 
song  and  occupation  as  well."  He  was  standing 
in  the  arch  of  the  window  with  his  hand  on  the 
heavy  oaken  mullion,  and  as  he  spoke  he  touched 
the  capstone  of  the  arch  where  the  three  crescents 
of  Diane  de  Poitiers  were  intertwined.  "  It  is 
very  strong,"  said  he  ;  "  see,  it  will  bear  my  whole 
weight.  Perhaps  I  will  hang  a  basket  of  hyacinths 
here  ;  then  we  would  have  color  and  perfume,  and 
she  loves  flowers.  We  will  see  ;  of  one  thing  I 
am  certain  :  I  will  have  more  red  panes  put  in  the 
window  ;  she  shall  never  have  a  thought  of  the 
gallows  tree  in  this  room.  Why  must  he  put  a 
horrible  fancy  in  the  one  pleasant  spot  in  the 
world  for  me  ?  I  hate  him  for  it." 

He  had  quite  forgotten  Van's  presence,  and 
the  young  American  recalled  him  to  himself  by 
some  pleasant  commonplace  remark,  thanked  him 


59 


for  his  kindness  in  showing  them  the  ruin,  and 
slipped  a  coin  into  his  hand  as  they  went  down 
the  stairs  together.  Long  afterward,  every  event 
of  the  day  came  back  to  him  as  vividly  as  though 
acted  before  him  in  a  drama,  whose  most  trivial 
incident  leads  on  to  the  tragedy  at  its  close ;  and 
he  seemed  to  see  again  before  him  the  handsome 
guard  with  his  hand  on  Diane's  crescents,  the 
broken  cross  burning  its  red  gallows-brand  upon 
his  face,  and  all  the  shining  floor  about  him 
bright  with  the  flickering  Bourbon  lilies.  Never, 
in  after-life,  even  in  the  midst  of  an  exciting 
chase  and  jovial  companions,  could  he  hear, 
without  a  shudder,  the  inspiriting  notes  of  the 
hunting-horn  sounding  merrily  —  a  la  victoire, 
d  la  victoire  ! 

After  they  had  finished  their  sketches,  Orso- 
.  vitch  looked  for  the  guard  in  every  direction,  in 
order  to  give  him  the  customary  fee,  but  he  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"  Insolent  beggar  ! "  said  he  at  last  angrily, 
"  I  believe  he  has  absented  himself  on  purpose, 
because  he  is  too  proud  to  take  money ;  well,  he 
is  a  franc  the  poorer,  that 's  all.  That  such  people 
should  have  ideas  of  that  kind ;  one  would  think 
he  was  lord  of  the  castle,  instead  of  a  mere  game- 
keeper. It  is  strange  what  a  difference  there  is 


60  BOURBON  LILIES. 

between  the  male  and  the  female  of  the  genus 
peasant.  Look  at  that  little  girl  that  we  hope  to 
have  pose  for  us ;  in  certain  surroundings  I  should 
take  her  for  a  lady,  and  yet  she  belongs  to  the 
same  class  as  this  animal  of  a  guard.  Bah  !  the 
mere  statement  of  the  fact  is  an  insult  to  the  girl. 
What  a  muddle  our  social  distinctions  are ! " 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHERE   THE   MARQUIS   IS. 

When  street  strawberries  are  sold,  piled  in  pottles  like  sheaves, 
And  young  ladies  are  sold  for  the  strawberry  leaves. 

OWEN  MEREDITH. 

The  vignettes  —  all  that  lot  —  are  scalps 

I  took  in  London,  Naples,  Nice, 
At  Paris,  and  among  the  Alps  : 

Those  foreign  lovers  act  like  geese. 
But,  dear,  they  are  such  handsome  men. 
We  go  to  France,  next  year,  again  I 

MARY  A  INGE  DE  VERRE. 

TF  Orsovitch,  in  fresh  fields  and  pastures  new, 
had  forgotten  the  Americans  who  had  annoyed 
him  so  much  the  previous  summer,  they  had  not 
forgotten  him. 

In  an  elegant  suite  of  rooms  commanding  the 
Champs  Elyse'es,  where  wealthy  Americans  love 
to  congregate,  a  young  girl  with  a  bright,  bewitch- 
ing face  and  a  graceful  form,  attired  in  the  very- 
height  of  the  newest  mode,  was  looking  abstract- 
edly at  the  throng  of  carriages  below,  passing  to 
and  from  the  Bois. 

(61) 


62  BOURBON   LILIES. 

An  older  lady,  reclining  languidly  in  an  easy- 
chair,  was  turning  with  fingers  heavily  laden  with 
diamonds  the  leaves  of  a  large  photograph  alburn 
—  an  album  filled  with  cabinet  photographs  of 
handsome  men,  the  military  predominating,  but 
mixed  in  with  students  from  every  university 
of  Germany,  and  an  exquisite  belonging  to  the 
Queen's  Own  on  the  same  page  with  one  of  the 
choristers  at  the  Sistine  Chapel. 

TVIrs.  Poser's  face  clouded  as  she  noticed  the 
latter  vignette.  "Fanny,"  she  exclaimed,  "this 
sort  of  thing  has  lasted  long  enough." 

"  That 's  what  I  think,"  replied  the  young  girl 

can,  my  dear,  that  it 's  time  you  were 
i 

if  you  hadn't  been  scolding  me  ever  since 
e  back  to  Paris  because  I  am  dull,  and 
en  dragging  me  about  from  matinees  to 
from  the  races  to  the  opera,  driving  me 
distracted  with  amusements,  falsely  so 

.  Poser  scanned  her  sister  with  a  sharp, 
critical  glance.  "  I  can't  imagine  what  has  come 
over  you,  Fanny.  You  used  to  be  the  gayest  of 
the  gay.  You  are  not  becoming  disenchanted,  I 
hope.  Nothing  makes  a  girl  appear  so  old  as 


WHERE  THE  MARQUIS   IS.  63 

that  blase  way  of  not  caring  for  amusements  or 
anything  else.  At  your  age  one  ought  to  be 
enthusiastic.  A  man  may  be  a  perfect  cynic,  but 
he  never  admires  a  woman  who  is  disgusted  with 
life.  You  used  to  be  wild  for  society,  and  crazy 
over  waltzing,  but  now  you  are  as  serious  as  a 
Quaker." 

"  And  just  now  you  were  saying  that  it  was 
time  I  was  serious." 

Mrs.  Poser  bit  her  lip.  "  You  know  very  well 
what  I  mean,  you  perverse  child.  I  mean  that 
instead  of  wasting  your  time  haunting  the  picture 
galleries,  you  ought  to  cooperate  with  me  in  my 
efforts  to  get  you  suitably  married." 

"  You  are  so  very  capable  in  such  matters  that 
I  don't  see  any  need  of  putting  in  my  little  oar." 

"  Now,  Fanny,  sarcasm  is  thrown  away  on  me. 
though  I  must  say  it  does  not  come  with  a 
very  good  grace  from  you,  when  you  know  that  I 
am  devoted  to  your  interests."  And  Mrs.  Poser 
hid  her  dry  eyes  behind  her  lace  handkerchief. 

"Yes,  dear,  I  know  it,"  exclaimed  Fanny 
impulsively,  kneeling  beside  her  sister  and  throw- 
ing an  arm  about  her  waist.  "What  do  you 
want  me  to  do?  I  agree  to  anything,  Puss  ;  any- 
thing but  marrying  the  marquis." 

"And  I  don't  see  why  you  object  so  to  that 


64  BOURBON  LILIES. 

poor  dear  marquis,  with  his  aristocratic  hotel  in 
the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  that  has  been  in  the 
family   for  so  many  generations.      His  mother 
thinks  the  world-in-all  of  you.     I  am  sure  nothing 
could  have  been  more  marked  than  her  invitation 
for  us  to  spend  a  fortnight  at  her  villa  in  Enghien, 
and  we  really  compromised  ourselves  in  accept- 
ing.    I  would  never  have  gone  if  you  had  not  led 
me  to  suppose  that  you  liked  the  marquis.     And 
how   mortifying  it  was  when    Pauline  Pry  an- 
nounced the  engagement  in  the  American  Reg- 
ister, and  the  congratulations  began  flocking  in  ! 
I  should  think  that  circumstance   alone  would 
u —  been  enough  to  make  you  verify  the  report, 
you  could  have  done  it  so  easily.    There 's 
Wiley  has  been  fishing  for  him  in  the  most 
stakable  way  these  six  months  for  one  of 
aughters,  and  Mrs.  Soper  would  give  her 
to  have  him  for  a  son-in-law." 
'hat  is  one  of  my  reasons.     I  don't  want  to 
lentified  with   that   set.      You  know   that 
a  Pauline  Pry  wrote  on  '  Where  the  Marquis 
jre  will  the  mothers  be  gathered  together ! ' ' 
fancy  no  one   would    take   me  for  your 
ar,  Fanny,"  said  Mrs.  Poser  complacently, 
thing  one  of  the  little  bows  with  which  her 
sleeve   was   ornamented.     "It   really   seems   to 


WHERE  THE  MARQUIS  IS.  65 

me,  my  dear,  that  you  have  a  morbid  horror  of 
titles.  If  a  man  has  noble  blood  in  his  veins,  it 
sets  you  against  him  at  once.  Your  particular 
penchant  just  now  appears  to  be  for  poor  young 
artists,  just  as  last  winter  you  doted  on  interest- 
ing but  impecunious  musicians." 

Fanny's  face  flamed  crimson.  "Now  you 
mean  Abondieu  Tamburini.  I  am  sure  he  had 
nobler  blood  in  his  veins  than  the  marquis  even. 
Every  one  said  at  Rome  that  his  father  was  a 
cardinal  and  his  mother  a  countess." 

Mrs.  Poser  raised  her  hands  in  horror.     "  My 
dear    child!"    she   exclaimed,    "never    mention 
Signor  Tamburini  again, 
that  irregular  way  is  worse  t 
origin.     What  would  the  n 
you  speak  of  such  a  thing  ?    . 
proper  in  her  ideas.     And  as  to  rank  —  even  if  it 
were  the  proper  thing  for  cardinals  to  marry — 
why,  the  marquise  is  so  very  aristocratic  that  she 
looks  down  on  the  Napoleons.     I  heard  her  say 
that  the  Empress  Eugenie  was  canaille,  whatever 
that  may  be,  and  I  only  wonder  that  she  can 
consider  you  a  suitable  match  for  her  son." 

"  I  think  the  wonder  is  sufficiently  explained 
after  the  unblushing  way  she  inquired  of  you  as 
to  the  amount  of  my  dowry." 
9 


66  BOURBON  LILIES. 

"  But,  Fanny,  that  is  the  regular  way  of  doing 
things  here.  You  know  that  she  explained  that 
they  were  not  at  all  mercenary,  and  only  wished 
a  sum  equal  to  that  which  they  intended  to  give 
their  son.  That  ruinous  old  chateau  is  very  val- 
uable ;  all  it  needs  is  to  be  put  into  repair  to  make 
a  very  elegant  residence." 

"  I  would  rather  sit  in  the  Sistine  Chapel  and 
hear  Abondieu  Tamburini  sing,  than  own  all  that 
estate ;  so  don't  talk  to  me  about  the  marquis 
again  —  that's  a  dear.  There,  Mr.  Goth  is  just 
knocking  at  our  front  door.  I  had  quite  forgotten 
that  I  promised  to  visit  the  Cluny  Palace  with 
him  this  morning.  Good-by,  my  dear.  I  love 
you  dearly,  indeed  I  do." 

Mrs.  Poser  sat  for  a  long  time  after  her  sister 
left,  wrapped  in  thought,  her  cogitations,  with 
sundry  repetitions,  running  something  in  this 
way:  — 

"  It  is  just  as  I  thought.  Fanny  need  not  try 
to  deceive  me  by  talking  about  Tamburini ;  that 
was  all  ended  long  ago.  It  is  that  distinguished- 
looking  artist  that  she  met  when  we  were  staying 
with  the  marquise  at  Enghien.  Let  me  see : 
Fanny  was  rowing  on  the  lake ;  had  stopped  the 
boat  in  a  shady  spot,  and  was  reading  a  novel.  I 
found  her  curled  up  there,  the  very  picture  of 


WHERE  THE  MARQUIS  IS.  67 

demure  unconsciousness — the  minx  actually  pre- 
tended that  she  did  not  know  that  this  strange 
gentleman,  sitting  only  a  few  yards  away,  was 
putting  her  in  his  picture.  I  am  confident  that 
was  the  first  time  she  saw  him.  Then  he  called 
on  the  marquise  her  reception  evening,  and 
Fanny  played  and  sang,  and  chatted  with  him 
fully  half  an  hour.  I  couldn't  ask  the  marquise 
who  he  was,  without  emphasizing  Fanny's  con- 
duct. How  provoking  it  is  that  there  are  no 
introductions  in  French  society.  I  don't  believe 
that  Fanny  herself  knows  his  name.  Then  we 
saw  him  at  one  of  the  open-air  conr^rfc  A  -  ' 
when  the  marquise  sent 
cherries  in  her  own  phae 
hunting  party  that  dashed 

rode  a  splendid  horse,  and  ^ 

rich  hunting  costume  was  very  becoming;  but 
then  our  postillion  said  that  the  party  were  guests 
of  the  Due  de  Champnoix,  and  of  course  the 
horse  belonged  to  the  duke's  stud,  and  I  dare  say 
the  duke  furnished  the  hunting  suits  too.  Where 
did  we  see  him  next  ?  I  do  believe  he  was  in  the 
same  hotel  with  us  when  I  was  so  sick  at  Mon- 
treuil.  What  delicious  peaches  those  were,  to  be 
sure.  There  was  some  one  there  that  Fanny  was 
interested  in,  for  I  never  knew  her  before  to  be  so 


68 


BOURBON  LILIES. 


anxious  for  me  to  get  well,  so  that  we  could  drive 
about.  The  marquise  had  impressed  upon  me 
the  importance  of  not  allowing  her  to  go  out  of 
the  house  unless  properly  chaperoned.  And  then 
we  saw  him  next  at  the  French  Exhibition  of 
Pictures,  which  they  so  absurdly  call  the  Salon. 
I  never  dare  write  it  so  in  my  letters  for  fear 
that  my  friends  at  home  will  think  I  am  becoming 
an  inebriate,  and  report  all  round  that  Fanny  and 
I  are  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  saloons.  How 
dreadfully  bored  he  did  look,  to  be  sure !  Precosia 
Pry,  the  artist,  had  fastened  upon  him,  and  was 
parading  him  up  and  down  as  though  he  were  a 
chained  tiger  in  a  Roman  triumphal  procession. 
That  must  be  the  reason  that  Fanny  hates 
Precosia  so.  And  the  Prys  must  know  all  about 
him  ;  they  are  the  most  wonderful  women  to  find 
out  things.  A  state  secret  would  not  be  safe  if 
they  were  in  the  country.  I-  will  go  down  and 
call  on  them  while  Fanny  is  at  the  Cluny.  Fanny 
must  have  known  that  she  could  find  out  all  about 
her  handsome  unknown  by  applying  to  them,  and 
her  pride  has  served  me  a  good  turn  in  keeping 
her  away  from  them.  She  has  preferred  to  go 
mooning  about  the  picture  galleries  in  the  hope 
of  some  day  running  against  him.  If  she  only 
knew  how  delightfully  transparent  she  is  !  " 


WHERE   THE   MARQUIS   IS.  69 

Mrs.  Poser  was  more  than  satisfied  with  the 
result  of  her  call  on  the  Prys.  "It  will  not  be 
such  a  bad  match  for  Fanny  after  all,"  she  said  to 
herself  as  she  reentered  her  little  boudoir.  "  A 
Russian  count  is  quite  as  good  as  a  French 
marquis,  but  Fanny  must  not  suspect  that  I 
favor  the  affair,  or  even  that  I  know  anything 
about  it.  I  wonder  why  I  never  suspected  that 
he  was  noble.  I  might  have  known  that  none  but 
the  very  ct£me  de  la  crime  could  have  the  entree 
of  the  marquise's  receptions 
could  any  ordinary  artist  be  th 
de  Champnoix  ?  Fanny  is  qui 
strange  she  did  not  guess  thai 
the  nobility,  and  take  fright  at  once.  Ana  now 
he  is  at  Ecouen,  and  the  Prys  are  going  out  there. 
Nothing  to  fear  from  them,  for  the  more  he  sees 
of  them  the  more  disgusted  he  will  be.  Precosia 
will  make  an  excellent  foil  for  Fanny,  but  we 
must  be  on  the  ground  to  let  the  contrast  appear. 
How  fortunate  I  mentioned  to  Precosia  the  fancy 
Fanny  had  taken  for  art,  and  asked  her  advice  as 
to  a  master  for  her  before  I  learned  that  M.  Orso- 
vitch  was  in  Ecouen.  Now  our  going  there  will 
not  have  the  look  that  it  would  otherwise  have 
had.  I  '11  have  a  little  talk  with  Mr.  Goth,  too, 
about  the  artists ;  he  knows  everybody,  and  can 


7O  BOURBON  LILIES. 

give  me  all  the  information  I  need.     I  wonder 
how  Fanny  will  take  the  announcement  ?  " 

The  announcement  when  it  came  was  received 
very  quietly.  Fanny  was  interested  in  Orsovitch, 
but  she  had  no  suspicion  of  the  plot  which  her 
sister  had  formed,  and  was  simply  pleased  to  hear 
that  for  awhile  they  were  to  abandon  fashionable 
life  and  betake  themselves  to  the  Vilier  le  Bel,  a 
village  adjoining  Ecouen,  where  she  was  to 
become  the  pupil  of  the  distinguished  artist, 
Monsieur  Robusti.  She  really  enjoyed  art,  and 
the  prospect  of  serious  devotion  to  it  came  like  a 
great  boon  to  fill  the  dreary  emptiness  of  her  life. 
She  had  lived  hitherto  in  the  shallows,  but  she 
was  fitted  for  life's  depths,  and  deep  indeed  were 
the  waters  waiting  for  gay  little  Fanny  Fitz-Flirt. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE     LOT     IS     CAST. 

Ask  me  no  more:  thy  fate  and  mine  are  sealed: 
I  strove  against  the  st 

/^VF  the  two  days  whic. 
finding  of  Eulalie  i, 
during  which  she  was  to  dt 

sition  made  her,  the  first  Wets  ounaay  and  the 
second  a  day  of  considerable  importance  for  the 
canton,  as  it  was  the  one  upon  which  the  draft 
occurred,  the  young  men  of  the  vicinity  drawing 
lots  to  decide  whether  they  must  serve  in  the 
army  for  the  next  five  years.  Adolph,  the  only 
child  of  Eulalie's  aunt,  was  among  this  number ; 
he  was  the  apple  of  his  mother's  eye,  and  she 
could  not  endure  the  thought  of  losing  him  for 
that  length  of  time  and  perhaps  for  ever.  She 
had  found  another  young  man  who  had  said  that 
if  he  drew  a  good  number  and  Adolph  a  bad  one 
he  would  exchange  and  go  as  substitute,  in  con- 

(71) 


72  BOURBON  LILIES. 

sideration  of  a  very  large  sum  of  money.  No 
amount  would  have  been  too  much  for  Adolph's 
mother  to  give,  had  she  possessed  it,  but  un- 
fortunately, the  sum  named  exceeded  all  that 
she  had,  or  could  possibly  earn  in  the  time 
demanded  for  payment.  Her  only  hope  now  was 
that  Adolph  would  be  lucky  and  draw  a  good 
number.  Still  her  motherly  love  and  anxiety 
were  such  that  they  would  allow  her  no  rest,  and 
she  tormented  herself,  and  all  with  whom  she 
came  in  contact,  with  her  apprehensions.  Her 
conversation  with  Orsovitch  had  moreover  given 
her  a  new  idea,  and  with  all  the  earnestness  which 
she  could  have  displayed  had  his  fate  been  already 
decided,  she  begged  Eulalie  to  consent  to  pose 
and  help  buy  her  cousin's  ransom.  She  began 
as  soon  as  the  young  men  had  left,  as  they  sat 
down  to  their  evening  meal. 

"  I  can  not,  aunt,  indeed  I  can  not,"  was  Eula- 
lie's  unvarying  response ;  "  I  promised  Amedde 
that  I  would  never  sit  for  any  of  the  artists ;  he 
said  that  he  could  not  put  confidence  in  any  one 
that  did." 

"  But  Amedee's  own  mother  poses,  and  a  better 
soul  never  lived,"  said  her  aunt,  while  Pere 
Paquerette  grumbled  over  his  soup,  — 

I'Amedee  has  no  more  sense  than  a  baked 


THE  LOT  IS   CAST.  73 

owl.    Don't  I  pose  ?     What  would  become  of  the 

artists,  that's  what  I  should  like  to  know,  if  we 

did   not  ?      There  's    Monsieur  Dansaert  —  I  've 

stood  for  every  one  of  his  figures  of  drunkards. 

I   keep  that   battered  old   silk  hat  of  mine  on 

purpose  for  'em.       I  sweep  out  his  studio  and 

clean  his  brushes,  and  all  he  has  to  do  is  to  slap 

the  paint  on  the  canvas.     I  rather  think  he  owes 

the  greater  part  of  his  success  to  me.  and  T  mn 

glad  I  've  helped  h 

to  their  country  tc      •  -'e  th< 

tell  you  that  since 

amount  to  anything 

painters  are  the  admiration  and  stupefaction  of 

the  world ! " 

As  Pere  Paquerette  achieved  this  period  he 
waved  his  soup-spoon  to  heighten  its  rhetorical 
effect,  and  the  gesture  overturned  and  broke  the 
water  caraffe  at  his  elbow. 

"Animal!"  hissed  his  sister-in-law,  between 
her  teeth,  as  she  picked  up  the  broken  pieces  of 
glass.  "  But  I  forgive  you,"  she  added  more 
pleasantly,  as  she  took  her  seat  at  the  table ;  "  in 
your  bushel  of  chaff  there  is  sometimes  one 
grain  of  wheat,  and  what  you  just  said  about  it 
being  better  to  encourage  artists,  who  are  a 
harmless  set  enough  when  they  pay  their  bills, 

10 


74  BOURBON   LILIES. 

instead  of  the  army,  which  brings  nothing  but 
ruin  and  sorrow,  is  all  very  true.  It  seems  to  me 
that  enough  of  this  family  lie  in  the  church-yard 
yonder,  having  given  their  lives  to  their  country  ; 
and  I  should  not  think  that  you,  Eulalie,  would  be 
so  anxious  to  see  your  cousin  sent  away,  per- 
haps as  a  Chasseur  d'Afrique,  and  be  brought 
back  with  both  his  handsome  legs  shot  off,  or 
never  come  back  at  all,  more  likely."  And  she 
burst  into  tears  before  the  picture  her  imagination 
drew. 

Eulalie's  eyes  were  moist.  "  I  do  not  want  to 
have  him  go,  aunt,"  said  she;  "and  perhaps  he 
will  not  have  to  do  so.  He  has  not  drawn  yet, 
and  we  need  not  afflict  ourselves  beforehand." 

"  If  you  are  so  certain  that  he  will  draw  a  good 
number,  why  can't  you  let  it  rest  on  that,  and 
just  promise  that  you  will  pose  if  he  is  drafted  ? 
That  is  all  I  ask." 

"  Because  I  promised  Ame'de'e  that  I  would  not 
pose  under  any  conditions.  " 

"  You  need  not  be  so  afraid  of  Ame'de'e,"  per- 
sisted her  aunt ;  "he  need  never  know." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  Ame'de'e ;  whether  he 
knew  or  not  would  make  very  little  difference.  I 
should  know,  and  I  am  afraid  of  my  own  con- 
science." 


THE   LOT   IS   CAST.  75 

"  You  are  a  proud  girl,  with  no  natural  affec- 
tion. You  see,  Adolph,  how  much  your  cousin 
cares  for  you.  You  might  die  before  her  eyes, 
and  it  would  make  no  difference  to  her;  she 
would  not  sit  an  hour  and  let  an  artist  copy  her 
face  to  save  you.  And  all  for  what  ?  Not  because 
she  does  not  wish  to  displease  her  lover  —  she 
has  just  said  that  she  does  not  care  whether  she 
pleases  him  or  not ;  no,  it  is  only  because  she  is 
too  good.  She  sets  herself  up  to  be  better  than 
the  Mere  Angelique ;  she  does  not  hesitate  to 
cast  reproach  on  the  profession  of  her  old  uncle. 
She  is  so  very  virtuous  that  I  wonder  she  could 
ever  have  her  photograph  taken."  And  having 
vented  all  her  spite,  she  bounced  out  of  the  room 
in  a  transport  of  rage. 

"Don't  you  mind,  Eulalie,"  said  Adolp^i,  who 
had  kept  a  discreet  silence  while  in  the  presence 
of  his  mother.  "  I  hope  I  may  draw  a  bad  number, 
I  am  wild  to  go.  Nom  d'un  chien,  I  am  tired  of 
staying  here  in  Ecouen,  and  working  like  a  beast. 
Soldiers  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  drink  and  kiss 
the  girls ;  no  danger  of  another  war  in  the  next 
five  years.  If  I  should  go  to  Algiers,  I  would 
have  a  chance  to  see  the  world,  and  I  would  send 
you  some  ostrich  feathers  for  your  shop.  If  you 
know  what  you  are  about,  Eulalie,  you  '11  just 


76  '  BOURBON   LILIES. 

play  sweet  on  old  Ame'dee.  He 's  a  regular  mine 
of  gunpowder,  a  fortune  to  own ;  but  you  will 
have  to  keep  fire  out  of  the  way  or  there  '11  be  an 
explosion." 

Eulalie's   sleep   was    troubled   that    night   by 
r  '          1  dreams  of  Adolph  blown  to  atoms  by  the 
)n  of  a  bomb,  which  came  hissing  through 
just  missing  her  face,  and  glaring  -at  her 
me'dee's  eyes  as  it  passed, 
aunt  refused  her  morning  kiss,  and  she 
alone  to  the  old  church  troubled  in  mind, 
inking  it  her  duty  to  yield,  she  was  so  used 
ifice  herself  for  others. 
>urs  is  no  Christian  determination,"    her 
HL.        lad  said  as  she  left ;    "  such  hardness  of 
heart  and  obstinacy  come  only  from  the  devil." 

And  Eulalie  replied,  "  I  am  not  determined ;  I 
am  only  seeking  for  the  right,  and  I  pray  God  to 
show  it  to  me  to-day." 

Kneeling  on  entering,  she  prayed  for  a  sign, 
and  looked  for  it  earnestly  through  all  the  early 
part  of  the  service  ;  but  the  mass  was  said,  and 
the  choir  boys,  led  by  the  withered  old  man  in  the 
black  skull-cap,  holding  the  huge  brass  trumpet 
had  grumbled  the  responses,  and  still  none  had 
come.  She  looked  up  wearily  as  a  cure,  a 
stranger  to  Ecouen,  mounted  the  carved  pulpit 


His  first 

lap,  but  t 

Lord."      h 

could  tell  wh 

the  morrow ;  u 

even  Monsieur  t. 

to  preside  over  the 

result  would  be  —  no 

His  hands,  and  she  was 

She  came  home  with  a  bi. 

her  face,  the  look  of  one  whv. 

perplexity  into  the  care  of  an. 

powerful  enough  to  order  all  for  t 

aunt,  though  never  before  noted  for  hci  i^i&i~ 

fervor,  approved  these  pious  convictions  with  a 
genuineness  that  none  could  doubt.  Nothing 
was  now  too  good  for  her  niece,  and  she  opened 
her.  best  pot  of  marmalade  in  honor  of  her 
decision. 

The  day  of  the  draft  dawned  clear  and  beauti 
ful.  Light  booths  were  placed  along  the  street 
by  sellers  of  cake  and  refreshment  of  various 
kinds,  who  never  missed  such  an  occasion  of  dis- 
playing their  wares,  but  appeared  as  regularly  as 
the  day  itself  in  every  village  of  the  department. 
Their  carts,  which  had  arrived  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, stood  under  the  great  chestnut  tree.  On  the 


ILIES. 

;ad  long  silver  and  blue 
icarts  of  gingerbread,  and 
ariety.     Two  new  kegs  of 
k  of  vin  ordinaire  had  been 
house  the  night  before,  and 
^.s  resplendent  in  her  Sunday  apron 
whose  frills  were  as  white  and  stiff  as 
.gh  carved  in  alabaster.     The  landlady  had 
ipped  in  early  to  buy  a  fresh  red  rose  for  her 
nead-dress,  which  vied   in   color   with  her  own 
wine-tinted  cheeks.     She  sat  behind  her  counter 
now,  her  fat  form  shaking  with  laughter,  as  she 
oked  with  the  countrymen  flocking  in  from  all 
quarters.     How  the   crowd   thickened.     Eulalie 
could  see  it  all  from  her  window :  the  boys  in 
blue  blouses  who  were  to  draw,  buying  the  gaudy 
badges   soon   to   be    stamped   with    a   lucky   or 
unlucky  number.     Monsieur  Bonenfant,  keeper 
of  the  Esperance,  was  there  with  his  own  son, 
and  he  had  promised  that  if  the  boy  drew  a  good 
number  he  would  treat  the  conscripts  to  a  wine 
supper  that  evening.      Little  girls  were  selling 
ribbons  with  which  to  decorate  the  hats  of  the 
boys.     Now  and  then  one  of  these,  mindful  of 
Eulalie,  would   step   into   the   shop   to  buy  his 
ribbon  there,  and  have  her  fasten  it  upon  his  hat 
for  him. 


THE    LOT   IS   CAST.  79 


Adolph  had  said  as  she  arranged  his  :  "There 
are   only  thirty  to  serve  for  five  years.     I  will 
hold  up  my  number  as  I  go  past  the  door,  and  if 
it  is  over  thirty  you  will  know  that  I  am  exempt. 
There  go  the   gendarmes ;  how  handsome   ! 
are  in  their  dark  blue  uniforms  laced  with 
and  their  great  cocked  hats  and  black  must 
Maybe  I  will  be  a  gendarme  some  day,  } 
horse  of  my  own,  live  in  a  fine  house,  an< 
like  them."     As  to  the  last  clause,  it  was 
all  likely,  for  Adolph's  beardless  face  was  c<- 
with  freckles  which  matched  in  tint  his 
locks,  and  gave  promise  that  the  mustache,  when 
it  did  come,  would  be  of  a  like  fiery  color. 

"  Des  rubans  !"  shouted  the  little  badge-ven- 
dors ;  "  d  cinq  sons  les  ntbans  !  "  Eulalie  tried  to 
control  her  nervousness  and  go  quietly  about  her 
work.  She  set  herself  to  arranging1  the  articles 
in  the  little  window,  though  her  eye  continually 
sought  the  street.  Old  Martin  le  Maladroit,  the 
town  crier,  was  beating  his  drum  to  attract  atten- 
tion, and  when  all  was  quiet  for  a  moment,  began 
to  read  his  proclamation  in  a  high,  cracked  voice. 
Eulalie  opened  her  door  and  listened. 

"Avtsf"  said  the  little  man,  peremptorily 
giving  three  final  rolls  to  his  drum.  "Avis  !  Tottt 
le  monde  est  prfvenu  que  les  jeunes  gens  qui  sont 


80  BOURBON   LILIES. 

inserts  four  la  — pour  la  — mer  horizontale ' ' — H  ere 
le  Maladroit  was  interrupted  by  a  shout  of  laugh- 
ter from  the  crowd,  and  adjusting  his  spectacles, 
and  grumbling  that  the  notice  was  very  badly 
written,  he  made  another  trial.  "  Qui  sont  inserts 
pour  Tannfe  me'ridionale" —  The  hubbub  that  fol- 
lowed was  still  more  wild,  and  le  Maladroit  was 
obliged  to  beat  his  drum  for  a  long  time  before 
order  was  restored,  and  he  was  allowed  to  inform 
the  jeunes  gens,  who,  he  had  at  last  discovered, 
were  enrolled  for  I 'ann/e  territorials,  that  their 
names  would  now  be  read,  and  the  lots  drawn. 
It  was  only  a  few  minutes  afterward,  though  it 
seemed  an  age  to  Eulalie,  that  she  saw  Monsieur 
le  Sons-pr^fet  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  mairie 
at  the  end  of  the  street,  announcing  the  result 
of  the  draft. 

She  could  not  bear  to  watch  them  any  longer. 
It  was  all  decided  now;  and  yet  she  would  not 
know  for  several  minutes  the  chance  which  might 
mean  so  much  for  her,  and  she  walked  over  to 
her  aunt's  work-table  and  began  to  bring  order 
out  of  the  confusion  which  reigned  there.  She 
wound  each  bobbin  of  cotton  as  carefully  as 
though  her  fate  depended  upon  the  neatness  with 
which  her  task  was  done,  and  afterwards  folded 
and  assorted  a  number  of  little  shirts  and  slips 


THE   LOT   IS   CAST.  8l 

small  enough  for  some  child's  doll,  tying  them 
with  narrow  blue  ribbon  before  she  laid  them  in 
a  large  flat  box,  for  they  were  the  various  articles 
for  a  layette  which  had  been  finished  the  week 
before.  Her  aunt  was  a  very  skillful  needle- 
woman, and  as  the  department  of  linen  wear  in 
Eulalie's  establishment  was  not  an  extensive  one, 
she  managed  it  nicely.  One  by  one  Eulalie's 
fingers  caressed  the  dainty  little  garments :  she 
toyed  with  the  tiny  cap,  looking  down  lovingly 
upon  it,  not  because  she  admired  its  delicate 
embroidery,  but  as  she  might  have  looked  if  there 
had  been  a  baby's  face  within  its  satin  ribbon 
border,  and  the  baby  had  been  her  own.  Some- 
thing of  the  look  her  aunt  understood,  it  was  so 
plainly  written,  for  she  said  : 

"  I  will  make  a  layette  a  great  deal  handsomer 
than  this  one  for  your  first  baby.  There,  hear 
the  noise ;  it  must  be  that  all  is  decided." 

The  two  women  flew  to  the  door.  The  boys 
were  forming  in  line  in  front  of  the  mairie,  and 
now  came  marching  down  the  street  to  the  sound 
of  le  Maladroit' s  drum,  which  one  had  seized. 
One  of  their  number  led  the  way,  flourishing  a 
ribbon-decorated  stick  as  he  danced  nimbly  back- 
ward, facing  his  company.  "  It  is  Adolph  ;  how 
glad  he  looks  ;  he  must  have  -drawn  a  good  num- 


82  BOURBON   LILIES. 


ber,"  said  his  mother.     "  There,  he  is  holding  up 

his  Hat   to   us.     Can   you    read  it  ?     The   wind 

blows  the  ribbons  so.      Ah,  it  is  50 !     There,  I 

ou  so :  he  is  exempt !     And  you  have  had 

icroics  for  nothing      Don't   you  wish  you 

ien  a  iittle  more  willing  to  pose,  now  there 

leed  of  it  > 

ou  are  mistaken,  auni,"  said  Eulalie quietly; 
not  50  but  30,  the  very  last  number  among 
if  ted  But  there,  do  not  look  so  distressed , 
'«!  ort  go.  tor  I  will  pose." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE     LED  A. 

But  evil  is  wrought  by  want  of  thought, 
As  well  as  want  of  heart 

HOOD. 

r  I^HE  next  day  Eulalie  came,  and  no  profes- 
sional model  could  have  posed  better.  She 
took  easily  and  gracefully  every  position  given 
her,  and  kept  it  with  the  immovableness  of  a 
marble  statue.  This  did  not  prevent  her  talking, 
however,  and  Van  wondered  that  he  had  thought 
her  face  sad,  it  lighted  up  with  such  cheerful 
enthusiasm  as  she  gave  the  explanations  she  had 
heard  of  the  windows  in  the  church. 

Had  they  noticed  the  one  next  to  that  of 
Our  Lady  of  Seven  Sorrows  ?  It  was  Odet  de 
Coligny,  nephew  of  the  Due  de  Montmorenci,  in 
his  scarlet  robes,  for  he  was  a  cardinal.  "  Only," 
said  she,  "  it  was  such  a  pity  he  turned  Calvinist 
after  the  window  had  been  placed  there  by  his 
uncle,  and  disguised  as  a  sailor  crossed  the  Chan- 
nel in  a  little  row-boat,  and  sought  refuge  in 

(83) 


BOURBON  LILIES. 


England.  Nobody  knew  then  what  to  do  with 
the  window  ;  it  was  too  bad  to  destroy  so  hand- 
some an  ornament,  and  yet  no  one  wanted  the 
portrait  of  a  heretic  in  the  church.  At  last  some 
one  solved  the  difficulty  by  placing  Adam  and 
Eve  driven  from  Paradise  in  the  sashes  above  his 
head.  And  to  show  that  Mother  Church  was 
very  pitiful,  and  would  welcome  back  her  erring 
children,  they  added  the  design  of  Christ  seeking 
the  wandering  sheep  upon  the  dark  mountains 
of  sin." 

There  were  other  legends  and  bits  of  history, 
but  this,  heretic  as  Van  was,  interested  him  most. 
What  mattered  it  that  there  was  every  evidence 
that  all  the  sashes  of  the  window  had  been  placed 
at  one  and  the  same  time  ?  The  appropriateness 
of  the  designs  was  almost  enough  to  vouch  for 
the  truth  of  the  story. 

When  it  grew  too  dark  to  see  to  paint  longer, 
Orsovitch  gave  Eulalie  a  gold  piece,  and  told  her 
that  the  next  day's  work  would  be  easier,  as  he 
had  decided  that  he  wished  only  to  paint  her  face, 
and  she  might  sit  all  the  time. 

"And  may  I  bring  my  flowers?"  she  asked. 
"  I  can  work  at  the  same  time,  and  I  promise  you 
not  to  move." 

"  I  hardly  think  you  will  be  able  to  work,-    >aid 


THE   LED  A.  85 


Orsovitch,  "  but  you  may  bring  them,  certainly ; 
we  can  at  least  try." 

As  she  turned  to  go  she  passed  the  little  book- 
case, and  paused  a  moment  to  examine  the  books. 
"  If  there  is  anything  there  you  would  like  to 
borrow,"  said  Van,  "  you  are  welcome  to  it." 

Her  eyes  sparkled  with  delight,  and  she  laid 
her  hand  on  the  great  History  of  France.  "  May 
I  take  this  ?"  she  asked  ;  "you  are  too  good,  and 
I  have  read  so  little  history." 

Orsovitch  studied  his  sketch  long  after  Eulalie 
had  gone.  "  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it,"  he 
said  ;  "there  is  material  there  for  a  picture,  and 
I  must  use  it ;  now,  the  question  is,  as  what  ? " 

In  a  startled  look  in  the  beautiful,  dreamy  eyes 
he  had  caught  the  expression  with  which  she 
looked  up  when  he  first  suggested  her  posing ;  but 
the  exquisite  pale  cheek  was  dimpled  with  the 
smile  which  had  flickered  upon  it  as  she  told  her 
legends.  Van  lighted  the  lamp,  and  Orsovitch 
brought  forward  his  portfolio  of  sketches  and 
studies,  and  looked  them  all  over  vainly  for  a 
subject.  He  lingered  awhile  over  some  studies 
made  at  the  Cluny  Palace,  of  steel  armor  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  inlaid  with  gold  and  silver. 
"  She  would  make  a  good  Jeanne  d'Arc,"  said  he ; 
"  she  has  just  that  mysterious  superhuman  air 


86  BOURBON   LILIES. 

of  inspiration,  and  the  contour  of*  her  face  is 
something  like  the  bas-relief  in  the  Orleans 
Museum  ;  though  to  my  mind,  after  all,  the  only 
satisfactory  ideal  of  Jeanne  d'Arc  is  the  one 
rendered  by  the  Princess  Marie  in  her  statuette 
in  the  same  collection,  and  I  fear  the  subject  is 
too  difficult  for  me  —  as  yet."  And  he  began 
turning  over  the  canvases  placed  with  their  faces 
to  the  wall. 

There  was  one  made  in  a  life  school  at  Paris,  a 
study  from  the  nude.  Orsovitch  had  displayed 
immense  care  and  remarkable  taste  in  the  flesh 
tints.  The  little  study  was  really  an  exquisite 
bit  of  color.  The  model  must  have  been  a  wo- 
man of  uncpmmon  beauty,  and  Orsovitch  had 
subtly  idealized  her.  He  had  painted  the  figure 
as  reposing  upon  a  green  bank,  in  an  attitude  at 
once  remarkable  for  its  grace  and  the  difficulties 
which  it  presented  in  foreshortening — difficulties 
nobly  overcome  by  careful  drawing  and  masterly 
modeling.  .  The  study  had  been  much  admired, 
and  would  have  made  a  charming  picture  had 
it  not  been  for  the  face,  which  was  repulsively 
common,  even  vulgar.  It  was  for  this  reason 
that  he  had  set  it  aside,  not  even  caring  to  work 
up  any  accessories  to  it,  leaving  a  square  of  un- 
covered canvas  in  the  right-hand  corner  of  the 
picture. 


THE   LEDA.  7 

"  Eureka ! "  exclaimed  Orsovitch ;  "  only  imagine 
a  swan  in  the  foreground,  and  this  face,  with  all 
its  fascination  and  fear,  instead  of  that  brutal 
thing,  and  it  would  make  my  fortune  as  a  Leda ! 
Hold,  what  do  you  say,  Van  ?  "  for  his  companion 
was  silent 

"  I  do  not  think  it  the  right  thing  to  give 
Mademoiselle  Eulalie's  face  to  a  nude  figure," 
Van  replied ;  "  I  am  positive  she  would  feel 
insulted." 

"  She  need  never  see  it/'  replied  Orsovitch, 
"nor  need  any  one  who  knows  her.  I  have  an 
amateur  in  ,my  mind,  who  will  be  in  Paris  this 
spring.  I  am  sure  this  will  suit  him,  and  it  will 
be  shut  up  at  once  in  his  private  collection  in 
Russia.  Now,  where 's  the  harm  ? " 

"  I  would  not  do  it,"  persisted  Van. 

"Pooh!"  exclaimed  his  friend  half  angrily; 
"one  must  think  of  one's  own  interests  some- 
times, and  this  cannot  possibly  injure  our  little 
model."  And  Orsovitch  proceeded  to  erase  the 
face  already  upon  the  canvas. 

The  next  morning  Eulalie  came  with  her 
materials  for  flower-making.  She  worked  for  a 
wholesale  house  in  Paris,  she  said,  and  furnished 
her  own  little  shop  at  the  same  time.  She  had 
plucked  a  number  of  natural  flowers  as  she  passed 


BOURBON   LILIES. 

through  their  garden,  and  she  now  proceeded  to 
imitate  them.  "  These  are  not  for  my  patron," 
said  she  ;  "  I  have  so  long  wanted  to  make  a 
wreath  for  Our  Lady  of  Seven  Sorrows  in  the 
church,  but  I  have  never  felt  that  I  could  spare 
the  time  until  now.  They  are  to  be  all  lilies, 
purple  and  white  like  these,"  and  she  showed 
the  sweet-scented  white  lilies  and  the  stalks  of 
royal  fleur  de  Us.  As  her  deft  fingers  clipped 
and  joined  the  bits  of  violet  velvet  and  satin,  she 
said  :  "  I  think  dark  blue  the  most  beautiful  color 
of  all.  The  violet  is  the  imperial  emblem,  you 
know,  and  our  family  are  all  Bonapartists,  though 
.of  itself  I  think  the  Bourbon  lily  the  more  royal 
flower." 

"  Purple  always  suggests  mourning  to  me," 
Van  said  ;  "but  it  is  very  becoming  to  you,  made- 
moiselle," and  taking  down  a  volume  of  Ruskin, 
he  translated  for  her  what  the  art  critic  says  of 
color. 

"  I  mean,"  said  Eulalie  confidentially,  "  as  soon 
as  I  can  afford  it,  to  buy  a  dark  blue  English 
vaterproof,  with  a  capeline  to  go  over  my  head  — 
so.  I  wish  I  could  have  it  for  the  Ecouen  fete, 
but  that  is  impossible." 

"  When  is  the  fete  ? "  asked  Orso\dtch. 

"The  first  Sunday  in  next  month,  and  Ame'dee 


THE  LEDA.  9 

has  promised  to  make  me  dance  every  set.  My 
aunt  is  making  me  a  new  white  dress,  and  we  wil' 
have  such  a  merry  time.  The  fete  is  very  beau- 
tiful, messieurs  ;  you  should  go  to  see  it." 

"  Who  is  Amede'e  ? "  Van  asked  ;  and  he  was 
not  at  all  surprised  when  she  replied,  "  The 
guard  at  the  Chateau  de  la  Chasse." 

"  He  is  a  strong,  well-built  fellow,"  said  Orso- 
vitch ;  "  he  reminded  me  of  the  Antinous  at  the 
Louvre.  He  carries  his  dog-whip  as  though  it 
were  a  rapier.  Altogether  a  handsome  young 
man,  though  it  strikes  me  that  he  may  be  the 
possessor  of  a  remarkably  bad  temper." 

"  He  is  a  little  difficult,  that  is,  sometimes," 
admitted  Eulalie;  "but  you  should  know  his 
mother,  la  Mere  Angelique —  such  a  heavenly 
old  lady." 

"  I  have  heard,"  said  Orsovitch,  "  that  it  matters 
little  what  sort  of  a  wife  one  has,  provided  one's 
mother-in-law  is  agreeable :  is  that  your  theory, 
Mademoiselle  Eulalie  ? " 

Eulalie  colored  deeply,  and  Van,  to  hide  her 
embarrassment,  said  quickly,  "  She  must  be  quite 
a  contrast  to  the  other  village  women,  for  as  far 
as  I  have  met  them,  La  Gazette  is  a  good  type, 
and  her  match  for  malice  I  have  never  seen  else- 
where." 


90  BOURBON  LILIES. 

"  La  Gazette  has  a  grown-up  daughter,"  said 
Eulalie,  "  whom  she  has  proposed  to  the  Mere 
Angelique  for  Ame^tee.  She  is  to  have  a  dowry 
of  five  hundred  francs.  Some  of  the  peasants  are 
quite  rich,  while  we  bourgeoisie  are  as  poor  as  the 
noblesse"  (Pride  of  caste  cropping  out  even  in 
the  poor  modiste?) 

"  Has  Gazette's  daughter  a  tongue  like  her 
mother?"  asked  Orsovitch. 

"  You  know  her,  I  think,"  replied  Eulalie ;  "  she 
is  La  Poissonniere." 

"Yes,  I  know  her,"  retorted  Orsovitch,  "and 
I  know  her  to  be  a  remarkably  impudent  hussy. 
I  would  not  take  her,  if  I  were  Amedde  —  no, 
not  with  any  dowry.  Why  is  it,"  he  continued, 
addressing  Van,  "that  selling  fish  renders  the 
voice  more  harsh  and  discordant  than  any  other 
calling.  I  never  knew  a  fish-wife  whose  voice 
did  not  resemble  the  shrill  shriek  of  ocean  birds  ; 
that  of  our  poissonniere  is  peculiarly  startling,  it 
curdles  the  marrow  in  my  bones  every  time  I  hear 
it.  I  fancy  that  no  human  utterance,  not  even 
the  cry  of  the  African  bushmen,  can  be  less 
musical."  Turning  to  Eulalie,  he  added,  "  You 
need  not  come  to-morrow,  child,  for  I  am  going 
to  Paris  to  make  a  study  of  a  swan  ;  but  be  sure 
not  to  fail  me  the  day  after." 


THE   LED  A.  9 1 


"By  the  way,"  said  Van,  "have  you  begun 
that  history  yet  ? " 

"Oh,  yes!"  replied  Eulalie,  "I  read  two  can- 
dles out  last  night." 

"  Then  tell  me  all  about  it.  We  will  have  a 
regular  class,  and  you  shall  recite  to  me  each 
day."  Eulalie,  delighted  with  the  idea,  gave  at 
once  a  correct  r&um/  of  what  -she  had  read, 
which  Van  supplemented  with  the  events  of  the 
same  epoch  occurring  in  other  countries,  and  the 
second  day  of  posing  passed  even  more  rapidly 
than  the  first. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

LA     MERE    ANG^LIQUE. 

Scanty  goods  to  her  had  been  allotted, 
Yet  her  thanks  rose  oftener  than  desire, 

While  her  long  fingers,  bent  and  knotted, 
Fed  with  withered  twigs  the  dying  fire. 

GEORGE  S.  BURLEIGH. 

"\  7"AN  knew  the  Mere  Angelique  well.  He  had 
not  said  so  to  Eulalie,  because  he  hoped  she 
would  go  on  talking  about  her,  for  he  loved  to 
hear  her  talk.  Her  opinions  were  so  naive,  and 
yet  so  sensible  withal,  for  she  had  received  a  more 
thorough  education  at  the  Maison  Eugenie  than 
at  first  appeared ;  she  was  well-read  as  regarded 
French  literature,  and  knew  much  of  the  world, 
through  her  experiences  at  the  flower  manufactory 
at  Paris ;  •  and  yet,  withal,  she  was  marvellously 

* 

innocent  and  child-like. 

Van  had  a  host  of  sisters,  and  was  dubbed 
brother  by  many  girls  at  home  who  were  not  his 
sisters,  and  yet  he  had  never  known  an  American 
girl  who  was  like  Eulalie.  It  seemed  to  him  that 

(92) 


LA   MERE   ANGfiLIQUE.  93 

she  was  ignorant  of  everything  which  they  knew, 
and  that  none  of  their  accomplishments  com- 
prised the  graces  of  mind  and  manner  that  made 
her  so  attractive.  Of  the  two  types  Eulalie's  had 
the  charm  of  novelty,  and  he  resolved  to  become 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  this  new  phase  of 
character,  never  thinking  that  it  might  prove  to 
him  a  dangerous  study.  "  She  will  always  be 
young,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and  our  girls  are 
world-worn  and  disgusted  with  life  at  eighteen. 
What  will  Eulalie  be  like  at  eighty  ?  The  Mere 
Angelique?"  And  suddenly  the  old  woman 
acquired  a  new  interest  for  him.  Orsovitch  had 
gone  to  Paris ;  the  day  stretched  before  him  a 
dull  blank  in  contrast  with  the  lively  chat  and 
pleasant  companionship  of  yesterday  ;  why  not 
get  the  Mere  Angdlique  to  pose  for  him,  and 
from  her  garrulous  good-nature  find  the  key  to 
the  problem  that  was  interesting  him.  He  really 
wanted  her,  too,  to  assist  him  in  realizing  an 
ideal  for  a  picture  that  had  long  been  haunting 
him,  and  he  placed  upon  his  easel  a  study  of  an 
autumnal  landscape,  made  the  fall  before.  He 
intended  to  call  the  picture  "  Ready  for  Har- 
vest ; "  it  would  represent  an  old  woman  whose 
face  should  be  nobly  expressive  of  duty  well 
performed,  and  of  calm,  even  triumphant  look- 


94  BOURBON  LILIES. 

ing  forward  to  the  last  enemy  already  overcome. 
She  would  be  seated  at  the  roadside,  her  pilgrim's 
staff  in  her  hand,  the  harvest  fields  stretching 
away  in  the  background,  and  sere  leaves  flecking 
the  ground  about  her,  while  she  waited  for  the 
reapers.  One  of  these  should  be  known  to  be 
approaching,  from  the  shadow  of  his  scythe 
which  the  slant  beams  of  the  morning  sun  threw 
at  her  feet. 

From  Frere's  school  Van  was  fast  drifting  into 
one  of  sentimentalism.  The  transition  was  a 
natural  one.  Frere  has  been  rightly  called  the 
Head  of  Sympathetic  Art  ;  but  his  sympathy  is 
always  frank,  sincere,  found  first  in  nature  itself, 
and  represented  with  delicacy  of  feeling,  but 
with  little  of  idealization.  Never  does  he  invent 
a  touching  story  and  then  pose  his  models  to 
enact  it ;  never  is  there  the  slightest  trace  of 
affectation  in  any  of  his  most  touching  pictures. 
They  are  realistic,  —  discovered,  not  created.  It 
was  for  his  pupil,  George  Boughton,  to  carry  his 
art  one  step  further  and  to  take  his  place,  as  by 
preeminence,  the  painter  of  sentiment.  Van  had 
been  greatly  moved  by  his  Bearers  of  the  Burden, 
which  he  had  seen  lately  at  the  Academy,  and  by 
Passing  into  Shade,  —  earlier  and  still  more  touch- 
ing,—  painted,  probably,  under  the  green  arched 


LA   M£RE   ANGELIQUE.  95 

avenue  leading  to  the  Chateau  de  Montmorenci. 
He  was  walking  now  in  Boughton's  path,  though 
later  he  came  to  recognize  that  Frere  was  grander 
in  his  simplicity  and  perfect  truth.  Van  was  in 
the  romantic  period  of  life,  and  he  gave  to 
inanimate  nature  and  to  human  faces  meanings 
which  they  never  possessed.  He  paused  now 
before  the  little  gate  lodge  of  the  Villa  Adeline, 
where  Mere  Angelique  lived,  and  looked  through 
the  wrought-iron  gates  at  the  mediaeval-looking 
gray  old  building  beyond,  half-covered  with  ivy, 
and  surrounded,  by  a  wilderness  of  bright  flowers 
which,  from  April  to  November,  contrived  always 
to  present  areas  of  brilliant  bloom,  and  wondered 
what  had  been  the  history  of  this  old  mansion, 
and  whether  the  Mere  Angelique  was  identified 
with  it.  "  I  will  get  her  to  tell  me  its  legends," 
he  thought;  "it  will  not  do  to  talk  of  Eulalie  all 
the  time."  He  rang  the  bell,  and  Charlotte 
appeared.  Charlotte  was  the  village  " pot-au-feu  " 
girl,  who,  twice  a  week,  made  her  rounds  with 
herbs  and  vegetables  for  soup,  in  an  odd  willow 
"  hptte"  or  basket,  which  she  wore  strapped 
across  her  shoulder.  And  Charlotte  tells  him 
that  the  Mere  Angelique  has  been  gone  these 
three  hours  with  the  modiste,  who  keeps  the  little 
shop  on  the  square,  for  a  day's  excursion  to  the 
Chateau  de  la  Chasse. 


96  BOURBON   LILIES. 

Van  is  disappointed,  but  averse  to  losing  the 
day.  "Then  can  you  pose  for  me,  little  Char- 
lotte ?  " 

"  Very  easily,  for  Anethol,  who  is  here  to-day 
at  work  in  the  garden,  will  mind  the  gate  ;  but 
then,  the  Mere  Angelique  has  left  Mimi  in  my 
charge." 

"  Mimi  can  come  too,  and  we  will  go  to  the 
forest."  And  on  their  way,  and  in  the  merry 
green-wood,  the  children  chatter  like  two  happy 
and  noisy  robins ;  and  Van,  though  he  finds 
Charlotte  a  very  provoking  model,  retaining 
scarcely  for  an  instant  the  same  expression  or 
position,  finds  much  to  interest  him  in  their 
childish  prattle.  Charlotte  tells  him  that  Mimi 
and  she  are  not  really  sisters,  but  both  waifs, 
adopted  by  the  good  Mere  Angelique,  whom  she 
calls  grand'mere,  and  who  feeds  and  clothes 
them  from  her  own  earnings.  In  the  intervals  of 
posing,  she  is  studying  her  catechism,  in  prepa- 
ration for  her  first  communion ;  and  when  Van 
asks  her  the  questions,  she  answers  confidently  to 
"Who  killed  our  Saviour,  Jesus  Christ?"  "  Les 
Juifs,  les  princes  des  pritres  et  les  Parisiens." 
(The  Jews,  the  chief  priests,  and  the  Parisians !) 
Looking  at  the  book,  Van  found  the  mistake 
as  slight  in  words  as  in  point  of  fact.  The 


LA  MERE  ANGfiLIQUE.  97 

Pharisiens  (Pharisees)  meant  nothing  to  her, 
while  she  knew  the  Parisians  were  not  friends  to 
Christ. 

Now  they  play  hide-and-seek  behind  the  trees, 
repeating  a  round  equivalent  to  the  "Onery- 
twoery-ickery-an  "  of  American  children,  and  of 
which  the  following  is  an  almost  literal  transla- 
tion :  — 

Marguerite  of  Paris, 

Lend  me  your  slippers  gray, 
To  guide  my  feet  to  Paradise 

On  this  sunshiny  day. 
We  will  see  the  little  birds 
That  Jesus  made  of  clay. 
Each  evening  in  the  chapel  old 

He  lights  the  candles  without  doubt 
Bread, 
Pipe, 

Bridge  of  gold, 
The  prettiest  child  goes 
Out! 

"You  seem  to  love  the  little  Jesus,  my  child," 
said  Van. 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  replied  Charlotte.  "  It  was  He 
who  helped  me  to  sell  my  violets." 

"Tell  me  about  it,  my  little  one." 

"  It  was  at  Argenteuil,  before  we  came  to  live 

at  Ecouen.     We  were  poor ;  oh !  so  very  poor. 

Grand'mere  used  to  work  in  the  fields,  and  I  went 

with  her.     Mimi  had  not -come  to  live  with  us 

13 


98  BOURBON   LILIES. 

then.  Coming  home  through  the  woods  grand'- 
mere  would  tell  me  stories,  though  she  was  very 
tired.  She  is  so  very  kind.  One  evening  I  had 
my  apron  filled  with  flowers,  which  I  had  picked 
on  the  way ;  and,  as  I  looked  up  into  her  good 
face,  I  wished  that  I  could  do  something  to  help 
her.  Just  then  we  passed  the  crucifix  that  marks 
the  beginning  of  the  village,  and  I  saw  that  some 
one  had  hung  a  garland  of  early  violets  about  it. 
'  They  are  blessed  flowers,'  said  grand'mere. 
And,  all  at  once,  the  thought  came  to  me  that  I 
would  sell  violets  through  the  month  of  May,  for 
that  is  the  month  of  Mary,  when  people  buy 
them  for  the  altars.  So  the  first  of  May  I  told 
grand'mere  I  did  not  want  to  go  into  the 
fields  any  more.  And  she  said  I  might  mind  the 
house,  if  I  chose ;  and,  leaving  a  bowl  of  milk  for 
my  breakfast,  and  some  knitting  for  me  to  do 
while  she  was  gone,  she  went  away  alone.  Every 
day,  as  soon  as  she  was  out  of  sight,  I  would 
run  into  the  woods,  pick  my  violets,  and  make 
them  into  little  bouquets  with  ivy  leaves.  I  would 
leave  the  prettiest  one  before  the  sacred  relic 
in  the  church,  and  then  hurry  into  Paris,  and 
sell  my  flowers  on  the  steps  of  Notre  Dame  des 
Victoires." 

"  What  relic  have  they  at  Argenteuil  ? "  asked 
Van. 


LA   MERE   ANGfiLJQUE.  99 

"  Monsieur  has  not  heard  then  of  the  tunic  of 
the  infant  Jesus,  which  grew  with  his  growth 
so  that  his  blessed  mother  never  had  to  make 
him  another  ? " 

Van  had  not  heard  of  it.  Was  she  sure  that 
this  was  the  authentic  tunic  ?  And  how  large 
was  it  ? 

"  Oh,  yes  indeed,  for  plenty  of  miracles  have 
been  wrought  by  it ;  it  was  large  enough  for  a 
boy  five  years  old  ! " 

"  Then  it  could  not  have  grown  any  more  after 
that,  and  Christ's  mother  did  have  to  make  him 
another." 

"  Oh !  yes  it  did,  monsieur,  but  this  is  as  it 
was  when  he  and  it  were  little ;  but  monsieur 
must  not  put  me  out.  I  never  had  a  bunch  of 
violets  left  after  four  o'clock,  it  was  the  tunic 
which  made  them  sell  so  well,  and  as  I  carried 
my  knitting  with  me  and  did  my  work  on  the 
church  steps,  grand'mere,  finding  my  stint  always 
done,  never  suspected  that  I  had  been  away.  But 
the  last  of  the  month  came  and  closed  the  market 
for  flowers  for  the  Virgin.  There  was  one 
gentleman  who  always  bought  two  or  three 
bunches,  and  on  that  day,  seeing  that  I  had  been 
crying,  he  asked  me  what  was  the  matter.  When 
I  told  him,  he  said,  '  Never  mind,  little  one, 


100  BOURBON   LILIES. 

perhaps  something  better  wiH  happen  next' 
When  I  reached  home,  I  found  grand'mere  there 
before  me.  I  was  afraid  she  would  ask  me  where 
I  had  been,  but  she  did  not,  for  there  were  other 
women  there  and  they  had  brought  Mimi,  a  little 
red  thing,  all  wrapped  in  flannel.  They  said  her 
mother  was  dead  and  they  wanted  grand'mere  to 
take  her.  '  I  would,'  said  grand'mere,  and  the 
tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  '  but  I  have  no  money  to 
buy  her  milk.'  '  Oh  !  yes  you  have,  grand'mere,' 
I  cried.  '  Keep  the  little  mimi.  [You  see  I  did 
not  once  think  it  was  a  baby,  but  supposed  it 
was  a  kitty  they  had  wrapped  up  there.]  I  have 
money  enough  to  buy  milk  for  two  months,  and 
she  can  catch  rats  after  that.'  And  I  ran  and 
poured  all  my  milk  money  —  big  sous  and  half- 
franc  pieces  —  into  grand'mere's  lap.  'Where 
did  you  get  this  money  ? '  said  she,  looking  very 
serious.  Before  I  could  say  a  word  the  gentleman 
who  had  bought  my  flowers,  and  who  had  followed 
me  home  without  my  knowing  it,  entered  the 
house  and  told  the  whole  story.  Then  he  said, 
'  I  am  an  artist  and  live  at  Ecouen,  though  I  have 
a  studio  at  Paris  too,  and  spend  a  great  deal  of 
time  there.  I  have  a  large  garden  and  no  time 
to  attend  to  it  myself.  There  is  a  little  house 
with  it  too,'  and  he  offered  grand'mere  very  much 


LA  MfcRE   ANGfiLIQUE.  IOI 

money  to  go  and  be  his  gatekeepeer  and  gardener. 
So  that  is  why  we  are  here,  for  it  was  M.  Dupin- 
ceau,  and  he  gave  us  part  of  the"  land  to  culti- 
.vate  for  ourselves,  and  I  sell  all  that  we  raise 
from  it." 

"A  very  touching  story,  little  Charlotte,"  said 
Van ;  "  and  does  the  Mere  Ang61ique  love  the 
little  Jesus  as  much  as  you  do  ? " 

"No;  Grand'mere  is  not  pious.  She  hardly 
ever  goes  to  hear  mass.  She  says  she  thinks  as 
did  the  great  duke,  who  built  the  castle  on  the 
hill  yonder.  When  he  died,  the  priest  wanted 
him  to  think  of  religion  ;  and  he  said,  '  Mon 
pere,  do  you  think  I  have  lived  eighty  years  with 
honor,  not  to  know  how  to  die  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  ? '  Grand'mere  is  not  pious  and  Monsieur 
the  Cure  says  she  will  go  to  purgatory  some 
day.  I  like  to  go  to  church.  See  what  I  gained 
at  the  last  church  lottery  !  "  (And  she  held  up  a 
little  silver  medal.)  "He  did  not  give  me  the 
ribbon,  though.  I  had  to  pay  four  sous  for  that. 
Monsieur  the  Cur6  has  lotteries  once  a  week  to 
make  the  people  come  to  vespeis.  Without  that 
they  would  not  come,  even  if  he  had  the  Angelus 
rung  all  night.  I  shall  celebrate  my  first  com- 
munion soon,  and  that  will  be  beautiful ;  one  is 
all  in  white,  with  a  crown,  like  a  bride ;  I  will 


IO2  BOURBON  LILIES. 

pose  for  monsieur  afterward  in  my  new  dress,  if 
he  wishes.  I  shall  wear  it  to  the  fete.  I  like  fetes 
almost  as  well  -as  mass,  because  we  dance  there. 
Do  they  dance  on  fe*  te  days  in  America,  or  only 
on  Sundays  ?" 

The  question  is  a  puzzling  one,  and  Van  does 
not  attempt  to  answer  it,  and  Charlotte  wanders 
on : — 

"  I  have  posed  for  lots  of  pictures,  but  not  for 
so  many  as  the  little  Jesus  ;  in  every  church  I  was 
ever  in  there  are  two  or  three  with  him  in  them. 
I  wonder  whether  the  artists  always  remembered 
to  give  him  his  two  sous  ? " 

As  this  seems  to  be  a  mild  hint  to  Van,  who  is 
strapping  up  his  colors,  he  acts  upon  it  immedi- 
ately, and  Charlotte  trudges  away,  singing  a  song 
of  Lucien  Gothi's,  which  Van  has  often  heard 
from  her  before,  as  she  passes  through  the  village 
vending  her  vegetables,  and  which  might  be  ren- 
dered thus : — 

"Little  Charlotte 
Sells  echalote, 

Laurel  leaves  for  the  brave, 
And  sage  for  the  grave; 
Thyme,  that  gives  us  gray  hairs, 
Leeks,  that  weep  for  our  cares. 
She  has  in  her  kotte 
All  you  need  for  your  pot; 
Then  come,  buy  garlic  and  echalote. 


LA   MERE  ANGELIQUE.  1 03 

Only  one  of  the  Breton  market-girls; 

But  her  onions  are  clustered  orient  pearls, 

Each  carrot  a  golden  ingot. 
Her  radishes,  red  as  my  lady's  lips, 
Or  as  slender  and  pale  as  finger-tips, 

Like  kisses,  are  spicy  and  hot. 
'Stead  of  flounces  and  ruffles,  rainbow-hued 
I  have  mushrooms  and  truffles,  fresh  and  good, 

To  keep  me  from  turning  cocotte. 
Instead  of  a  silken  trailing  gown, 
There  jauntily  droops  from  my  shoulders  do-wn- 

A  peasant's  light  willow  hotte. 
Never  fancy  for  that  I  am  happy  the  less, 
Selling  my  parsnips,  my  parsley  and  cress; 

Only  look  now  how  briskly  I  trot 
Buy,  then,  of  my  salad,  it  costs  but  a  sou, 
I  Ve  given  my  ballad  for  nothing  to  you, 

The  ballad  of  Little  Charlotte." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

FIRST   COMMUNION  ROSES. 

Life  was  a  play,  and  yoar  hands  grasped  after  the  roses  of 

heaven  I 

.  .   .   Love  is  atonement 
With  God ;  but  love  among  mortals 
Is  but  an  endless  sigh  I     He  longs,  and  endures,  and  stands 

waiting ; 
Suffers,  and  yet  rejoices,  and  smiles  with  tears  on  his  eyelids. 

LONGFELLOW'S  CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER. 

A  S  Eulalie  entered  her  little  shop  with  the  twi- 
light,  after  her  second  day  at  the  studio,  her 
aunt  started,  and  ran  the  needle  with  which  she 
was  embroidering  into  her  finger.  "  There ! "  she 
exclaimed  with  a  grimace,  "  but  that  is  droll.  I 
was  thinking  of  thee,  and  expecting  thee ;  I  said 
to  myself  when  the  clock  struck,  She  will  be 
here  soon,  and  here  I  start  when  thou  comest,  as 
though  I  had  seen  that  which  is  impossible.'* 

"That  is  because  you  are  tired,  aunt.  Have 
you  had  many  customers;  shall  I  light  the 
candles  ? " 

(104) 


FIRST  COMMUNION  ROSES.  IO5 

"  Yes  and  no ;  that  is  to  say,  I  .have  been 
deluged  with  business,  every  idle  person  in  the 
village  has  been  here,  and  I  do  not  want  any 
candles.  Thy  dinner  is  waiting  for  thee,  and  after 
thou  hast  finished,  Adolph  shall  bring  chairs,  and 
we  will  sit  out  of  doors  under  the  great  chestnut 
tree ;  we  can  see  if  any  one  comes,  an*l  it  is  gayer 
there. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  as  her  needles  clicked 
briskly  over  the  knitting  with  which  she  always 
replaced  her  sewing  when  it  was  too  dark  to  see, 
"and  now  I  will  tell  thee  who  has  been  here. 
In  the  first  place,  Monsieur  le  Cure*." 

"  Monsieur  le  Cure  !  what  could  he  want  ? " 

"  That  is  evident  enough.  The  children  have 
been  saying  their  catechism  to  him  for  a  month 
past ;  they  will  be  ready  soon  for  their  first  com- 
munion. There  are  a  great  many  girls  this  year, 
and  they  will  want  their  wreaths  of  white  roses. 
M.  le  Cure  has  always  taken  an  interest  in  thee, 
and  he  said  there  was  no  reason  why  the  girls 
should  not  buy  their  crowns  of  thee,  instead  of 
going  to  Paris  for  them,  as  they  did  last  year,  or 
to  the  milliner's  at  Vilier  le  Bel,  who  gets  most 
of  the  churches'  custom  simply  because  she  has 
dedicated  her  shop  to  St.  Didier,  and  has  a 
painting  of  the  archbishop  in  his  robes,  with  his 
14 


106  BOURBON  LILIES. 

pointed  hat  and  hook,  over  her  door.  And  M.  le 
Cure"  wished  to  warn  you  in  time,  that  you  might 
have  a  good  stock  on  hand  —  a  dozen  and  a  half 
for  the  village  girls,  and  three  dozen  for  the 
pupils  at  the  chateau.  It  is  a  large  order.  Thou 
shouldst  make  enough  from  the  communion  this 
year  to  pay  for  thine  own  wine  and  A  me"  dee's 
for—" 

"  Don't  talk  so,  aunt ;  thou  knowest  I  do  not 
want  to  make  money  by  it.  I  would  give  them 
their  crowns  if  I  could,"  —  and  the  tears  crept  to 
Eulalie's  eyes  as  she  thought  of  the  beautiful 
procession :  the  boys  with  their  curling  hair 
uncovered,  carrying  the  long  tapers  and  chanting 
as  they  went ;  followed  by  the  girls,  modest  little 
brides,  all  in  white,  with  their  long  veils,  sweet, 
"tremulous  lilies,"  under  the  fluttering  violet 
banners,  escorted  by  the  dignitaries  of  the  church 
in  scarlet  and  lace  and  gold  and  satin.  How 
they  were  met  on  the  bridge  over  the  castle  moat 
by  the  ladies  of  the  Company  of  Jesus,  with 
their  charges  scattering  rose  leaves  and  singing, 
Then  the  service  in  the  castle  chapel  added  to 
that  in  the  old  church  !  She  would  not  gain  a 
penny  by  the  roses,  if  only  she  might  enter  with 
the  procession  and  renew  her  vows  with  them. 

"  What  makes  thee  so  silent,  Eulalie  ?  Here 
are  five  minutes  that  thou  hast  said  nothing." 


FIRST  COMMUNION   ROSES. 


"I  —  I  did  not  mean  to  be  silent.  Did  any 
one  else  come?" 

"  Did  not  I  tell  thee  that  every  one  came  ?  The 
next  was  the  Mere  Angelique.  '  Eulalie  is  at 
Paris,'  said  I.  La  Gazette,  who  was  buying  some 
jet  beads  (she  wanted  me  to  take  three  yards  of 
passementerie  that  her  daughter  made  in  pay- 
ment, but  I  made  her  pay  for  it  in  heavy  copper  ; 
rich  as  she  is,  I  say  it  is  shameful),  —  La  Gazette, 
who  heard  what  I  said,  snapped  out,  '  What 
omnibus  did  she  take  ?  I  was  washing  win- 
dows all  the  morning  at  the  Hotel  du  Nord,  and 
I  did  not  see  her  go.'  I  could  have  bitten  her, 
but  I  pretended  not  to  hear,  and  the  Mere 
Angelique  went  on  to  say  that  to-morrow  is 
Amedee's  fete  day,*  and  it  would  please  him  if 
thou  wouldst  spend  the  day  at  the  Chateau  de  la 
Chasse." 

Eulalie  opened  her  eyes  in  astonishment  that 
the  Mere  Angelique  could  suggest  such  a  breach 
of  French  propriety. 

Her  aunt  saw  the  look.  "Ah,  never  fear;  it 
is  all  right.  She  is  to  come  and  fetch  thee,  and 
will  bring  thee  back.  Thou  wilt  spend  the  whole 
day  with  her,  and  thy  uncle  Paquerette  will  go 

*  Birthday  of  patron  saint  ;  celebrated  in  France  instead  of 
one's  own  birthday. 


108  BOURBON   LILIES. 

too.  She  invited  me  also,  but  I  must  stay  to 
mind  the  shop.  I  will  send  Adolph  to  tell  the 
artists  that  thou  canst  not  come  to-morrow,  for 
this  is  the  more  important." 

"  No  need  of  that,  aunt  I  have  to-morrow  as 
holiday  already  ;  and,  aunt,  I  will  tell  Ame'de'e 
that  I  am  posing ;  I  shall  have  plenty  of  good 
opportunity.  He  may  be  angry,  but  he  ought  to 
know." 

"  That  shalt  thou  not,"  cried  her  aunt  angrily. 
"  What !  wouldst  thou  give  me  the  lie  ?  Did  I 
not  say  that  thou  wast  at  Paris  ?  Besides,  child, 
even  if  he  forgave  thee  he  would  not  suffer  thee 
to  pose  any  longer,  and  though  the  artist  has 
been  generous,  yet,  hast  thou  not  earned  my 
Adolph's  ransom  ?  Oh  !  promise  me,  my  child, 
to  wait  until  thou  art  married,  then  tell  him  all 
thou  pleasest !  Eulalie,  Eulalie,  am  I  not  right  ? " 

"  You  are  right,  aunt ;  Ame"dee  would  not  wish 
me  to  pose  again.  I  have  promised  you  to  earn 
the  money,  and  you  may  rely  upon  me." 

"Tell  me  about  the  artists.  What  dost  thou 
think  of  them,  and  which  dost  thou  like  the 
best?" 

"  I  like  Monsieur  Van  best." 

"That  is  the  tall  and  black? " 

"  No,  that  is  Monsieur  Orsovitch." 


FIRST  COMMUNION   ROSES.  IOO, 

"  But  he  is  the  handsomer ! ", 
"  Yes,  but  Monsieur  Van  is  the  better." 
5  Monsieur  Orsovitch  is  not  then  good  ?  What 
has  he  ever  said  to  thee  ? " 

"  Nothing !  I  've  no  doubt  he  is  good,  aunt, 
but  I  like  Monsieur  Van  best :  he  is  more  like 
one  of  us.  Monsieur  Orsovitch  belongs  to  the 
high  noblesse.  Then  Monsieur  Van  knows  so 
much ;  his  wife  will  be  very  lucky,  for  she  can 
study  all  her  life  with  him,  and  how  nice  it  must 
be  to  have  a  husband  who  knows  more  than 
one's  self." 

Eulalie's  aunt  would  have  enjoyed  questioning 
her  further,  but  the  conference  ended  here,  for  a 
neighbor  stopped  near  them  to  chat. 

The  next  day  seemed  to  Eulalie  the  happiest 
one  of  all  her  life.  Mere  Angelique  came  early. 
Pere  Paquerette  had  on  a  clean  blouse  and  his 
best  cap,  and  he  offered  politely  to  carry  the  old 
lady's  immense  lunch  basket,  which  attention 
Mere  Angelique  declined,  for  she  was  by  far  the 
stronger  of  the  two.  Eulalie  filled  her  work- 
basket  with  a  drift  of  snowy  petals,  for  she  meant 
to  commence  the  first  communion  roses  while  at 
the  chateau.  The  morning  air  was  exhilarating, 
and  as  soon  as  they  left  the  village  she  gave  free 
vent  to  the  frolicsome  mood  which  possessed  her, 


HO  BOURBON  LILIES. 

and  ran  and  gamboled  like  the  child  she  was. 
Life  seemed  a  long  play-day  to  her,  and  she  so 
very  young,  the  years  must  be  interminable  ere 
she  should  reach  the  age  of  those  two  plodding 
on  so  slowly  and  yet  so  blithely. 

"  Sapristi ! "  said  Pere  Paquerette,  "  the  child 
must  have  a  balloon  instead  of  a  heart,  it  is  so 
light." 

"In  place  of  my  head,  more  likely,"  laughed 
Eulalie ;  "  that  is  empty  enough,  while  the  young 
man  coming  yonder  is  enough  to  fill  any  girl's 
heart,  however  large." 

It  was  quite  true,  Ame'de'e  was  approaching, 
with  sincere  delight  illumining  his  handsome, 
but  usually  gloomy,  features.  He  kissed  Eulalie, 
after  his  mother,  in  the  formal  way  permitted  to 
French  lovers,  and  then  walked  by  her  side  up 
the  avenue  leading  to  the  chateau. 

What  a  day  it  was !  Never  before  had  they 
had  any  quiet  and  confidential  talk  about  the 
future.  Like  all  French  engagements,  theirs 
had  hitherto  been  a  very  formal  affair,  with  no 
delightful  intimacy  or  exchange  of  thought  and 
experiences.  To-day  they  talked  to  their  hearts' 
content.  Mere  Ange"lique  and  Pere  Paquerette 
were  there  without  being  there,  their  presence 
scarcely  noticed  by  the  happy  lovers. 


FIRST   COMMUNION   ROSES. 


Amed^e  took  them  out  to  row  upon  the  lake, 
and  Eulalie  sang  a  duet  with  the  echo.  They 
fished,  roamed  the  forest  for  early  wild  flowers, 
and  explored  the  chateau,  where  Am6dee  showed 
them  the  room  which  he  had  fitted  up  for  Eulalie. 
"  It  is  very  beautiful,"  said  she  ;  "let  us  sit  here 
for  the  rest  of  the  day,  I  could  never  tire  of  it." 

Am^dee  looked  happier  and  handsomer  than 
ever.  "  I  was  afraid  you  might  be  lonely  and 
homesick  here,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  never  !  for  you  would  be  here  ;  and,  see, 
I  should  still  have  my  work,"  and,  opening  her 
basket,  she  showered  him  playfully  with  snow- 
flakes.  "Aunt  will  still  keep  the  store,  and  I 
know  you  will  be  willing  that  I  should  supply  her 
with  flowers.  I  can  gain  nice  little  sums  that 
way.  And  I  mean  to  make  you  an  apple-tree 
before  '  winter,  Mere  Angelique,"  —  this  to  the 
old  lady,  who  was  broiling  the  fish  in  the  next 
room,  —  "a  little  one  that  you  can  set  in  your 
window,  so  that  passers-by  shall  stop  and  say, 
'  How  many  fagots  does  the  Mere  Angelique 
burn,  that  she  has  an  apple-tree  in  blossom  at 
this  season  ?  '  I  shall  make  it  natural  enough  to 
deceive  the  wisest  of  them,  be  he  an  ancient 
gardener  like  Pere  Paquerette." 

"  Why  don't  you  make  her  a  Napoleon  peach- 


112  BOURBON  LILIES. 

tree,  such  as  I  had  when  I  was  gardener  at 
Montreuil  ? "  said  the  old  man.  "  I  trained  it 
against  the  south  side  of  a  stone  wall.  It  had 
eight  branches ;  the  first  ran  up,  slanted  down, 
and  then  shot  up  again, — that  made  the  N;  the 
second  slanted  up  and  down  and  twisted  around, 

—  that  made  the  A ;  and  so  on  with  all  the  letters. 
Nom  d'un  chameau  !  but  you  should  have  seen  it 
in  blossom.     Many  are  the  fine  people  that  came 
to  see  it.     One  veiled  lady  in  an  elegant  coup6 
carried  away  some  of  the  blossoms  and  left  a  gold 
napoleon  in  my  hand.     I  have  always  believed  " 

—  here  his  voice  sunk  to  a  mysterious  whisper — 
"  that  it  was  —  the  empress  !  I  had  rare  flowers 
in  that  garden  :  white  lilacs  that  I  blanched  from 
cuttings  from  purple  ones  by  a  process  that  no 
one  else  knows,  and  sold  them  in  winter  at  a 
price  to  take  the  eyes  from  your  head.     Ah  !  if  I 
only  had  a  little  garden  now,  like  yours,  Mere 
Angelique,  I  could  make  all  our  fortunes  !  " 

"  I  think  Mere  Angelique  would  prefer  the 
fleurde  Us  to  your  Napoleon  peach,"  said  Eulalie. 
"  She  may  have  some  that  I  have  been  making 
lately.  Monsieur  Van  says  that  violet  is  the  most 
perfect  of  colors,  because  it  is  made  from  red  and 
blue,  the  two  most  beautiful  ones." 

"  Who  is  Monsieur  Van  ? "  asked  Ame"dee,  but 


FIRST  COMMUNION   ROSES.  1 13 

before  Eulalie  could  reply,  crafty  Pere  Paquerette 
spoke  up.  "  She  means  Monsieur  Van  Tromp, 
the  Flemish  cheese  merchant,  who  raises  tulips 
and  has  one  famous  one  that  is  almost  black. 
Eulalie  stopped  to  look  at  it  in  his  window,  and 
he  came  out  and  asked  her  if  she  could  make  a 
flower  like  that.  Why,  it  was  no  more  fit  to  be 
put  in  the  same  box  with  Eulalie's  flowers  than 
one  of  my  sabots."  Eulalie  flushed  with  shame 
and  vexation.  Was  she  never  to  free  herself 
from  this  network  of  falsehood?  Pere  Paque- 
rette's  subterfuge  brought  her  forgotten  secret  to 
mind  again,  and  she  longed  to  tell  Ame'de'e, 
frankly,  the  whole  miserable  story.  If  it  had 
been  her  secret  alone,  she  would  have  done  so. 
Amedee  looked  at  her  admiringly ;  how  beautiful 
she  looked,  sitting  within  the  recess  of  the  stained 
window,  — 

"  Amid  heraldic  shields  and  banners  set 
In  twisted  knots  and  wildly  tangled  bands, 
Crimson  and  green,  and  gold  and  violet, 
Falling  so  softly  on  her  snowy  hands," 

as  she  twined  her  roses. 

"  Tell  me  the  history  of  all  those  devices,"  said 

Amedee ;  "  I  think  you  learned  everything  at  the 

Maison  Eugenie."     This  with  a  touch  of  envy  in 

his  voice  ;  it  was  the  only  hint  of  peasant  boorish 

IS 


114  BOURBON  LILIES. 

ness  of  which  he  was  capable,  this  distrust  and 
dislike  of  superior  education.  Eulalie' s  wider 
experience  of  Parisian  life,  though  only  as  sales- 
woman in  a  flower  store,  combined  with  the 
natural  instincts  of  a  lady,  more  than  the  learning 
of  books,  had  placed  her  upon  a  higher  plane  than 
Am6dee's.  If  one  is  quick  to  perceive,  the 
streets  of  Paris  will  give  a  wider  education  than 
the  halls  of  most  universities.  Slow  as  he  was  of 
perception,  Amedee  saw  this,  and  while  he  was 
proud  of  her  superiority  it  pained  and  angered 
him  at  the  same  time.  "  I  did  not  learn  much  at 
the  school,"  said  Eulalie  pleasantly,  "  only  what 
I  will  teach  you  in  one  winter  if  you  care  to  learn. 
But  since  I  have  known  you  and  this  old  chateau, 
I  have  been  reading  all  the  history  I  could  lay 
my  hands  on ;  it  is,  oh,  so  interesting ! "  and 
Eulalie  ran  into  an  enthusiastic  history  of  the 
Montmorencis ;  "and  just  to  think!"  she  added, 
"it  was  a  daughter  of  that  very  Charlotte  de 
Montmorenci  who  nearly  made  the  war  between 
France  and  Spain,  by  running  away  with  the 
Prince  de  Conde"  to  Brussels.  It  was  her  own 
daughter  who  married  William  of  Orange,  and  he 
is  Mr.  Van's  hero  !  " 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  any  great  match,"  said 
Mere  Ang&ique,  "  that  a  daughter  of  our  castle 


FIRST  COMMUNION  ROSES.  1 15 

should  marry  a  friend  of  that  Dutch  cheesemonger, 
Van  Trump,  and  an  orange  peddler  at  that,  I 
believe  you  said." 

Ame'dee  saw  Eulalie's  confusion,  and,  thinking 
that  it  was  occasioned  by  his  mother's  brusque- 
ness,  changed  the  subject.  "  You  shall  teach  me 
all  you  know  when  we  are  married,  Eulalie.  I 
have  a  thick  head,  but  I  believe  you  could  make 
a  stone  learn,  and  no  task  that  you  could  set  me 
would  be  too  hard  for  me  to  perform  for  your 
sake.  You  shall  make  of  me  just  what  you  see 
fit.  I  am  glad  you  know  the  most,  for  now  it  is 
right  as  well  as  my  wish  that  you  should  rule  in 
everything."  They  sat  apart.  Mere  Angelique 
and  Pere  Paquerette  were  unpacking  the  lunch- 
basket  and  setting  the  table ;  in  the  clatter  of  the 
dishes  they  could  not  hear  what  was  said.  Was 
ever  any  girl  so  happy,  thought  Eulalie,  as  she 
answered,  "I  shall  try  to  help  you  all  I  can, 
Ame'dee,  but  I  am  not  so  wonderful  as  you  think  ; 
you  will  be  surprised,  too,  to  find  what  a  naughty 
girl  I  am ;  you  must  be  ready  for  fearful  revela- 
tions when  we  are  married." 

"  Do  you  suppose  our  married  life  will  be  at  all 
like  this  ? " 

"  I  suppose  it  will  be  just  like  it,  Amede'e." 

"Then  it  will  be  a  sacred  communion,"  said 
the  young  man  solemnly. 


Il6  BOURBON  LILIES. 

Eulalie  nodded,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  I 
hope  it  is  not  wicked,"  she  said,  "  but  the  same 
thought  has  been  in  my  mind  all  day :  this  is  our 
first  communion." 

After  the  dinner,  Mere  Angelique  said,  "  Sing 
some  thing,  Eulalie ;  we  must  be  going  soon,  or 
it  will  be  dark  before  we  get  out  of  the  forest." 
And  Eulalie  sang,  to  an  air  by  Niedermeyer,  that 
sad  love-song  of  Lamartine,  The  Lake,  which 
loses  so  much  by  translation  :  — 

I. 

Toward  shores  unknown  forever  wafted, 
Borne  on  through  the  darkness  without  return, 

Fateful  darkness, — 
On  the  Lake  of  Ages  anchored  never. 

II. 

O  ye  silent  rocks,  forest  and  lonely  water, 
Whom  time  spares,  rejuvenates  or  passes, 

Ye  are  changeless. 
Moanedst  thou  thus  in  the  year  that  a-gone  is. 

III. 

Swept  the  wind  thus  thy  waves  to  her  dear  feet, 
And  I  come  to  thy  shores  again  —  lonely. 

Changeless  Nature ! 
Keep  at  least  the  souvenir  of  that  eve. 

IV. 

That  thy  winds  which  murmur,  reeds  that  sigh, 
Faint  perfumes,  obscure  forest  and  lake,  may 

One  word  utter : 
Love,  —  it,  too,  is  eternal  and  changeless  t 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  VILLA  ADELINE. 

I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honor  more. 

RICHARD  LOVELACE.  ' 

/^\N  the  morning  succeeding  the  events  which 
have  been  described  in  the  last  two  chap- 
ters, Van  received  a  note  from  Orsovitch,  who 
had  not  yet  returned  from  Paris,  saying  that  the 
painting  of  the  swan,  which  he  was  making,  in- 
terested him  so  much  that  he  should  spend 
another  day  upon  it,  and  asking  him  to  inform 
Eulalie  that  she  need  not  call  at  the  studio. 

Having  accomplished  this  errand,  Van  again 
asked  himself  in  what  way  he  should  occupy  the 
day ;  and  again  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  Mere 
Angelique.  What  little  Charlo'tte  had  told  him  had 
interested  him  in  her  for  her  own  sake  ;  this  time, 
too,  he  was  more  successful,  and,  having  seated 
her  in  a  sunny  angle  of  the  garden,  he  began 
the  picture  to  be  entitled  Ready  for  Harvest. 

"7 


Il8  BOURBON  LILIES. 

It  only  needed  a  word  to  set  the  old  lady 
chatting.  Van  was  a  favorite  of  hers,  and  she 
hardly  ever  came  to  pose  without  bringing  him 
some  trifling  present.  Once  it  had  been  an 
ancient  Delft-plate,  with  a  gaudy  painting  of  a 
tulip  upon  it ;  at  other  times,  a  cream-cheese  in 
a  tiny  heart-shaped  dish,  a  cabbage-leaf  of  straw- 
berries, or  a  small  nosegay. 

Van  began  the  conversation  by  telling  her  how 
much  he  had  enjoyed  his  day  with  the  children. 
"But  Charlotte  tells  me,"  he  added,  "that  you 
are  from  Argenteuil,  and  have  only  lately  come 
here,  while  I  had  supposed  you  one  of  the  oldest 
inhabitants  of  Ecouen." 

"And  so  I  am,"  said  the  old  woman,  proudly ; 
"  I  was  born  and  brought  up  in  the  same  little 
gate-lodge  where  I  live  now,  and  only  went  to 
Argenteuil  when  I  was  married." 

"Then  the  house  has  been  in  M.  Dupinceau's 
family  ?  I  had  fancied  from  something  he  said 
that  he  bought  it  only  a  few  years  ago." 

"  M.  Dupinceau's  family  live  in  another  part  of 
France  ;  he  is  only  a  new-comer,  but  he  respects 
the  old  house,  though  he  has  not  so  good  a  right 
to  it  as  I  have,  for  my  family  have  been  ser- 
vants there  ever  since  it  was  built.  Ah ! 
many  grand  people  have  lived  there  first  and  last. 


THE  VILLA  ADELINE. 


I  have  heard  my  father  talk  a  deal  of  Mademoiselle 
Adeline,  the  first  owner  ;  it  was  built  for  her 
more  than  a  century  ago.  She  was  a  comedienne 
at  a  theatre  in  Paris,  but  very  rich,  and  enter- 
tained a  great  many  noble  people  at  the  villa. 
Wild  parties  from  Paris  would  drive  through  the 
village  long  after  midnight,  waking  everybody  up 
with  their  laughing  and  their  singing,  —  bring- 
ing Mademoiselle  Adeline  back  from  one  of  her 
triumphs.  And  then  there  was  a  hurrying  and 
scurrying  of  the  servants,  and  dinner  to  be  got 
for  from  ten  to  twenty  people,  without  the  least 
warning,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  She 
could  not  stay  rich  long  that  way,  monsieur 
knows,  for  she  threw  the  money  that  she  earned 
out  of  the  windows.  But  my  father  never  would 
hear  a  word  against  her  ;  and,  indeed,  there 
was  none  ever  spoken,  for  she  was  as  generous 
to  the  poor  as  to  her  friends  in  higher  rank,  and 
they  have  named  one  of  the  streets  for  her.  She 
was  pious,  as  well  as  charitable.  In  the  park 
there  stands  a  little  chapel,  with  stained  glass 
windows,  which  was  Adeline's  oratory  ;  they  use 
it  for  a  summer-house  now,  and  the  ladies  take 
their  sewing  there,  and  read  novels  and  play 
chess,  and  sometimes  M.  Dupinceau  smokes  a 
cigar  there,  —  how  wicked  Adeline  would  have 


I2O  BOURBON  LILIES. 

thought  them ;  and  they  sometimes  speak  as  if 
she  were  wicked,  and  I  think  both  are  good. 
When  the  Revolution  of  1789  came,  and  the 
church  was  pillaged  and  turned  into  a  temple 
of  reason,  I  have  heard  my  father  say  that 
Adeline  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  new 
order  of  things.  She  sent  the  village  painter  to 
cover  the  windows  of  the  church,  inside  and  out, 
with  a  coat  of  whitewash,  and  that  saved  them  ; 
they  would  have  been  stoned  if  the  committee 
from  Paris  had  seen  the  saints ;  I  don't  know 
why,  I  am  sure,  for  I  never  heard  but  the  saints 
were  decent  people  enough.  The  altar  orna- 
ments, the  relics,  and  the  vestments  were  taken 
and  sold  at  auction.  The  chief  treasure  of  the 
church  was  a  crimson  velvet  banner,  richly  em- 
broidered in  gold  by  the  Princess  Anne  Palatine 
of  Bourbon.  Adeline  bought  it,  and  used  it  as 
an  altar  cloth  in  her  little  oratory,  but  it  disap- 
peared with-  her,  and  we  never  heard  of  it  again 
till  one  day  M.  Dupinceau  bought  it  of  some  one 
in  Montmorenci,  who  had  it  made  up  as  a  fire- 
screen, and  knew  nothing  of  its  history.  M.  the 
Cur6  saw  it  as  it  was  brought  through  the  village, 
thought  he  recognized  it  from  the  church  records, 
and  called  on  M.  Dupinceau,  asking  him  to  give 
it  back  to  this  church ;  this  M.  Dupinceau  would 


THE  VILLA   ADELINE.  121 

not  do,  and  M.  the  Cure  cursed  the  house  and  all 
within  it ;  and  this  is,  perhaps,  the  reason  that  so 
much  of  sorrow  has  happened  there  in  time  past, 
though  all  has  gone  merrily  of  late." 

"  Who  lived  in  the  house  after  Adeline  ? " 
asked  Van. 

"Ah !  you  must  go  to  Pere  Paquerette  for  that 
story.  It  was  one  of  Napoleon's  generals ;  he 
had  a  daughter  at  the  School  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor  at  the  chateau,  and  he  died  with  Pere 
Paquerette's  father,  at  the  Invalides.  The  old 
man  is  never  tired  of  talking  of  Napoleon, 
canaille  that  he  was  ;  but  the  next  owner  of  the 
villa  belonged  to  the  real  noblesse.  It  was  the 
Comte  de  Champnoix,  who  came  to  Ecouen  with 
the  Restoration.  He  entertained  the  allies  — 
Prussians,  Poles  and  English  —  in  his  house,  and 
brandy  flowed  like  water.  Ah  !  those  days  come 
within  my  own  remembrance ;  but  he  kept  the 
house  furnished  in  the  style  of  the  Empire,  as 
General  Hautcoeur  had  left  it,  except  a  few  rooms 
that  were  arranged  in  the  style  of  Louis  XVI., 
in  honor  of  Adeline,  and  the  comte  liked  those 
rooms  best.  Adeline's  chamber  was  left  with 
the  same  furniture  that  it  had  in  the  time  of  the 
comedienne,  —  a  great  square  canopied  bed,  big 

enough  for  six  people,  and  mirrors  all  around  in 
16 


122  BOURBON  LILIES. 

every  wall,  and  mirrors  set  into  the  floor  and 
ceiling.  We  always  prepared  this  room  for  the 
comte  when  he  sent  word  he  was  coming,  for  he 
lived  most  of  the  time  in  his  grand  hotel  in  Paris. 
His  wife  hated  the  country,  and  never  came  to 
Ecouen.  I  saw  her  once  when  I  went  in  with 
the  donkey  to  carry  vegetables  to  the  chef  de 
cuisine  for  the  family.  She  was  just  stepping  out 
of  her  coach,  and,  though  she  was  very  finely 
dressed,  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  she  was 
the  most  disagreeable  lady  I  had  ever  seen. 
I  think  the  comte  used  to  be  glad  to  get  away 
from  her,  and  come  out  to  Ecouen  for  a  little  rest 
and  quiet ;  but  it  was  not  often  that  he  could  do 
so,  for  he  was  court  chamberlain  to  the  king.  We 
were  glad  to  see  him  come,  for  the  great  house 
and  park  were  lonely  enough  when  there  was  no 
one  there.  One  morning  I  was  placing  a  fresh 
bouquet  of  fleur  de  Us  on  the  little  stand  under 
the  tall  portrait  of  Adeline  in  the  white  salon. 
We  always  placed  Bourbon  lilies  somewhere  in 
the  house  when  the  comte  was  at  home,  on 
account  of  his  political  notions,  for  the  comte  did 
not  care  for  flowers  for  their  own  sakes.  He  had 
arrived  the  night  before,  and  came  into  the  room 
as  I  finished  placing  the  bouquet. 

"  '  What  are  you   thinking   about,    Angele  ? ' 


THE  VILLA  ADELINE.  123 

said  he,  for  I  had  stopped  a  moment,  not  know- 
ing he  was  there,  and  was  looking  at  the  lovely 
portrait.  Mademoiselle  Adeline  was  a  very 
beautiful  woman  ;  in  the  picture  she  wore  a  light- 
blue  velvet  dress,  which  fell  straight  to  her  feet, 
without  hoop  or  flounce,  or  fold  or  wrinkle  of  any 
kind,  very  narrow  and  smooth,  and  trimmed 
around  the  bottom  with  light  gray  fur.  It  had 
the  tiniest  little  corsage,  hardly  big  enough  for  a 
baby,  and  from  it  her  white  shoulders  mounted 
up,  up,  like  a  white  rose  bursting  out  of  its  little 
thimble  of  green. 

"  '  What  were  you  thinking  about  ? '  said  the 
comte  again,  touching  me  under  the  chin  with  the 
tip  of  his  finger. 

" '  I  was  envying  Mademoiselle  Adeline  her 
beauty,'  said  I;  'but  I  hardly  fancy,  after  all, 
that  she  was  as  happy  as  we  are  when  you  are 
here.' 

"  '  Ah  ! '  said  the  comte,  slowly,  taking  both 
my  hands  ;  '  then  you  love  me  a  little,  Angele  ? 
Truly,  now  ? ' 

" '  Oh  !  a  great  deal,  Monsieur  le  Comte,'  said 
I  r  'we  all  love  you  a  great  deal.' 

"  '  Well !  that  is  curious,'  said  he,  letting  go 
my  hands,  and  walking  to  the  window.  '  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  any  one  can  love  such  an  old  bit  of 


124  BOURBON  LILIES. 

leather  as  I  am,  —  so  tough  that  the  surgeons 
have  thought  best  not  to  hack  at  me  any  longer. 
How  old  are  you,  Angele  ? '  and  the  comte  took 
a  large  pinch  of  snuff,  so  large  that  he  had  to 
wipe  his  eyes  after  it,  and  did  not  notice  that  he 
put  the  snuff-box  into  his  pocket  without  screw- 
ing on  the  cover,  which  he  had  let  fall. 

"  '  Eighteen,  Monsieur  le  Comte,'  said  I,  and  I 
ran  to  pick  up  the  cover  for  him,  for  the  comte 
had  a  wooden-leg,  though  he  was  none  the  less 
handsome  on  that  account  I  used  to  think  it 
made  him  all  the  more  stately.  As  I  handed  him 
the  snuff-box  cover,  a  gold  oval  with  a  coronet  of 
diamonds,  he  said, — 

"  '  You  need  not  have  envied  Mademoiselle 
Adeline;  you  are  every  bit  as  beautiful  as  she, 
Angele.  It  is  only  dress  that  makes  the  dif- 
ference. How  would  you  like  to  have  just  as 
fine  clothes  as  she  had,  have  this  house  and  park 
ill  for  your  own,  as  she  did,  and  a  coach  to  drive 
out  in  whenever  and  wherever  you  liked  ?  Perhaps 
I  should  come  oftener  and  stay  longer  if  you  were 
suited  with  such  a  plan,  little  Angele,  and  could 
promise  me  to  love  me,  not  only  a  great  deal,  but 
better  than  any  one  else  in  the  world.' 

" '  I  don't  know,  Monsieur  le  Comte,'  said  I. 
'  I  love  you  very  much  ;  but  then,  I  love  Emile 


:iIE  VILLA   ADELINE.  125 

du  Lac  too,  and  I  have  promised  to  marry  him, 
and  I  am  afraid  he  would  not  like  it.' 

"  '  Ah  ! '  said  the  comte  again,  thoughtfully,  '  I 
did  not  know  that  you  were  betrothed.  But  you 
could  give  him  up ;  could  you  not,  Ang61e  ? 
Come,  choose  between  us.  Which  do  you  love 
the  most  ?  This  Emile  is  a  handsome  fellow,  I 
suppose,'  and  the  comte  looked  at  himself  in  the 
glass. 

"  '  Oh,  no !  Monsieur  le  Comte,'  said  I,  hur- 
riedly ;  'he  is  not  nearly  so  handsome  as  you.1 

"  '  He  is  young,  then.' 

"  '  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte.' 

"  '  And  poor  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte.' 

"  '  Ah  !  then  he  has  the  advantage  of  me.  And 
you  love  him  best  ?  Come,  now,  don't  be  afraid 
to  say  so.' 

"  '  Oh,  no !  Monsieur  le  Comte,'  I  said,  sob- 
bing ;  '  I  love  you  best,  you  are  so  good  and  so 
—  so  magnificent.' 

"  '  Then  you  will  say  to  Emile  that  he  may 
marry  whom  he  chooses,  and  that  you  do  not 
care  a  button  for  him.' 

"  '  But  that  would  not  be  true,  Monsieur  le 
Comte.' 

"  '  Come,  come,  what  a  funny   little   Angela 


126  BOURBON  LILIES. 

you  are.  Then  will  you  leave  it  to  me  to  decide 
for  you,  since  you  cannot  decide  for  yourself  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,  yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  for  my  head 
is  all  in  a  whirl,  and  you  are  so  good  and  know 
so  much,  you  will  decide  it  best.' 

"  And  so  he  did  ;  for,  though  M.  le  Comte  was 
called  a  very  worldly,  godless  man,  God  spoke  to 
his  soul  then,  and  I  think  the  Evil  One  must 
have  been  so  astonished  by  his  reply  as  not  to 
dare  to  speak  for  his  soul  when  he  died.  What 
he  said  next  was,  — 

"  '  Then  wait  here  just  a  moment,  and  I  will  be 
back.'  When  he  came  I  knew  his  step,  but  I  did 
not  look,  for  my  head  was  buried  in  my  arms  on 
the  sofa.  '  You  left  this  matter  wholly  for  me  to 
decide,  Angele  ? '  he  said. 

'"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte,'  I  replied,  rising, 
and  trembling  so  that  I  could  scarcely  stand. 

"  '  I  have  just  had  a  talk  with  your  father  about 
Emile  du  Lac.  He  says  that  he  is  a  very  honest 
fellow,  and  that  he  would  have  no  objections  to 
your  marrying  him  if  he  were  not  so  poor.  So  I 
have  arranged  all  that,  and  provided  some  em- 
ployment for  him  at  Argenteuil.  I  should  rather 
you  would  not  live  just  here,  Angele,  you  under- 
stand, where  I  should  see  you  all  the  time  after 
you  are  married.  I  have  tried  to  decide  for  your 


THE  VILLA   ADELINE.  1 27 

best  good,  my  child.  Name  one  of  your  children 
for  me,  so  as  not  quite  to  forget  me ;  and  so, 
good-by.' 

"The  comte  held  out  his  hand  to  me,  and  I 
covered  it  with  tears  and  kisses.  He  drew  me  to 
him,  and  said  earnestly,  '  I  have  not  been  selfish, 
Angele ;  God  knows  it  is  because  I  love  you  that 
I  have  decided  thus.' 

"That  was  a  long  time  ago,  Monsieur  Van, 
but  I  have  held  for  the  Bourbon  lilies  ever  since, 
for  I  have  thought  if  a  simple  comte  could  be  so 
noble,  what  must  the  king  be.  And  I  named  my 
only  son  for  him,  Ame'dee,  and  wrote  to  the  comte 
that  I  had  done  so.  He  did  not  forget  him,  for 
in  his  will  he  desired  his  nearest  kinsman,  the 
Due  de  Champnoix  to  take  him  into  his  service. 
Ah !  the  old  noblesse  could  never  do  an  ignoble 
thing.  I  wonder,  monsieur,  if  there  is  any  real 
nobility  nowadays  ? " 

Van  did  not  answer,  but  the  lesson  had  sunk 
deeply  into  his  heart.  He  wished  that  Orsovitch 
had  been  there  to  hear  it  with  him,  and  somehow 
after  it  he  could  not  ask  the  old  lady,  as  he  had 
intended,  to  gossip  about  Eulalie. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

• 

GATHERING   CLOUDS    AND    FLOWERY   PATHS. 

Come,  show  us  the  rose  with  a  hundred  dyes, 

The  lily  that  hath  no  spot, 
The  violet  deep  as  your  true  love's  eyes, 

And  the  little  forget-me-not 

BARRY  CORNWALL. 

"\  T  7 HEN  Orsovitch  showed  Van  the  swan  wh'  • 
he  had  painted  at  Paris,  the  young  man  was 
delighted.  The  whites  were  treated  in  a  masterly 
manner,  and  contrasted  charmingly  with  the  warm 
carnations  of  the  figure ;  but  what  especially  struck 
him  was  the  carriage  of  the  swan's  head  and  neck. 
There  was  something  snaky  in  the  curve,  the 
head  was  drawn  back,  as  though  in  act  of  striking, 
and  the  eye,  too,  was  that  of  a  serpent,  fiery  red. 
While  praising  the  execution,  Van  remonstrated 
again  with  his  friend  against  Eulalie's  face 
appearing  in  the  picture.  Argue  as  Orsovitch 
might,  Van  had  still  the  same  unconquerable 
aversion  to  what  he  called  an  act  of  sacrilege. 
To  turn  aside  the  dispute,  which  was  becoming 

(128) 


CLOUDS  AND  FLOWERY  PATHS.  1 29 

almost  angry,  Orsovitch  opened  a  package  and 
shook  out  a  handsome  waterproof  cloak,  navy 
blue  in  color,  and  ornamented  richly  with  passe- 
menterie. "  Don't  you  think  she  will  be  pleased  ? " 
he  asked.  "  I  shall  give  it  to  her  over  and  above 
the  daily  five-franc  piece  we  agreed  upon." 

The  next  morning,  just  before  Eulalie  came, 
two  handsomely  dressed  American  ladies,  guided 
by  the  garc_on  from  the  village  inn,  tripped  up 
the  stairs  and  fluttered  into  the  studio. 

Orsovitch  had  just  placed  his  Leda  upon  the 
easel,  but  on  catching  sight  of  the  visitors  he 
replaced  it  in  the  cabinet  with  the  smothered 
ejaculation,  "  Shades  of  the  mighty !  Van,  there 
are  those  St.  Denis  Americans." 

Van  had  quite  forgotten  the  incident  Orso- 
vitch had  related  at  their  meeting,  but  seeing 
that  his  friend  was  disturbed,  he  stepped  forward 
to  receive  the  ladies. 

The  elder  regarded  him  with  a  stony  stare 
through  her  spectacles,  and  remarked,  "  We  were 
told  that  this  was  the  studio  of  the  Count  von 
Orsovitch." 

The  younger  lady,  who  also  wore  glasses,  but 

of  a  more  jaunty  type,  raised  them  and  slowly 

surveyed   the   apartment.      At  the  end  of  her 

scrutiny   she    gave    an    affected    little    squeak ; 

17 


130  BOURBON   LILIES. 

"  There  he  is  now,  Pauline !  "  and  dashing  fonvard 
she  seized  Orsovitch's  hand,  which  he  had  not 
offered,  and  gave  him  the  exuberant  greeting  of 
an  old  friend.  Pauline,  following  in  the  wake  of 
her  sister's  flounces  with  a  more  dignified  stride, 
opened  her  card  case  as  she  passed  Van,  and 
presented  him,  with  dignity,  a  small  card,  on 
which  was  inscribed,  "  Miss  Precosia  Pry  and 
Sister."  The  sister  was  the  senior,  but  Miss 
Precosia  was  a  "  professional,"  as  Pauline  Pry  ex- 
pressed it,  and  as  a  matter  of  business  her  name 
was  mentioned  first.  "  And  why  have  you  never 
called  on  us,  my  dear  count,"  said  Miss  Pauline. 
"  I  am  sure  Precosia  sent  you  word  where  we 
were  staying,  and  she  has  painted  the  most  mag- 
nificent picture,  something  really  extraordinary, 
so  pronounced  by  the  best  of  judges.  It  has 
been  very  favorably  noticed  by  the  press,  too. 
Here  are  a  few  clippings  in  regard  to  it."  Miss 
Pauline  did  not  say  that  all  of  these  notices  were 
written  by  herself,  but  she  presently  informed 
Van  that  she  had  come  to  Ecouen  to  write  up  the 
artists,  and  depended  upon  him  to  take  her 
round  and  introduce  her.  Orsovitch,  who  was 
anxious  lest  Eulalie  should  arrive,  remarked,  at 
the  same  time  glancing  at  his  watch,  that  it  was 
a  thousand  pities,  but  he  had  an  engagement 


CLOUDS  AND  FLOWERY  PATHS.  131 

for  the  day,  and  ought  really  to  be  away  at  that 
moment. 

"  Oh,  that  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  Miss 
Precosia,  "  we  shall  be  in  Ecouen  for  a  week  or 
two,  and  if  you  are  too  busy  mornings  you  can 
take  us  around  afternoons ;  and,  my  dear  count, 
you  really  must  spare  me  a  day  in  Paris  to  look 
at  my  picture." 

"What  is  the  subject?"  asked  Orsovitch. 

"  Oh  !  the  subject  is  Russian,  and  you  are  sure 
to  like  it :  The  Battle  on  the  Road  to  Iliali.  All 
the  officers  are  from  portraits.  Prince  Eugene, 
especially,  is  said  by  a  friend  of  his  to  be  wonder- 
fully life-like." 

"  I  shall  certainly  call  and  see  it,"  said  Orso- 
vitch  ;  and  Van,  who  could  stand  it  no  longer, 
tore  a  leaf  from  his  sketch-book,  wrote  rpon  it, 
"  N~e  montez^pas  encore,  Mademoiselle  Eulalie  ;  il 
y  a  du  monde"  and  hastening  through  the  garden, 
twisted  it  between  the  bars  of  the  little  gate. 
Eulalie  was  not  in  sight.  "  She  will  see  this  when 
she  comes,  and  wait  in  the  garden,"  he  said  to 
himself ;  "  it  would  never  do  for  those  prying 
creatures  to  see  her  here."  When  he  returned  to 
the  studio  they  were  still  talking,  though  Orso- 
vitch had  edged  them  politely  to  the  door. 

"  And,    my  dear  count,"   Miss    Precosia  was 


132  BOURBON  LILIES. 

saying,  "  one  doesn't  paint  battle  scenss  five 
yards  square,  and  go  to  all  the  trouble  that  I 
have  gone  to  for  data  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
merely  for  one's  own  pleasure,  you  know." 

"  Indeed  !  Then  I  am  to  understand  it  is  an 
order?" 

"  By  no  means ;  I'm  sure  I  wish  it  was ;  the 
picture  is  only  fit  for  some  gallery  or  a  very 
large  private  collection,  and  I  have  been  thinking 
that  perhaps  you  might  have  some  influence  with 
the  Emperor  of  Russia.  I  should  like  ever  so 
much  to  sell  it  to  him.  I  could  afford  to  let  it  go 
quite  cheap,  the  mere  fact  would  be  such  a  card 
for  me,  you  know." 

"  I  am  not  personally  acquainted  with  the 
emperor,"  stammered  Orsovitch,  for  once  thrown 
entirely  out  of  his  self-possession  by  his  intense 
surprise. 

"  But  I  dare  say  you  have  some  friend  who  is. 
I  see  you  are  busy  now,  and  we  '11  talk  it  over 
some  other  time,  after  you've  seen  it,  perhaps. 
Au  revoir." 

Shortly  after  they  left,  Eulalie  came  in,  look- 
ing white  and  frightened.  "  You  read  my  note, 
I  suppose,"  said  Van. 

"  Your  note  ?  No,  m'sieu  ;  did  you  give  it  tc 
La  Gazette  for  me?" 


CLOUDS  AND   FLOWERY   PATHS.  133 

"  No,  indeed ;  I  wound  it  about  the  gate. 
What  made  you  think  I  could  do  such  a  foolish 
thing  as  to  trust  it  to  that  harpy  ? " 

"  Because  I  met  her  a  little  way  from  here ; 
she  had  a  crumpled  paper  in  her  hand,  and 
smiled  so  maliciously  as  she  bade  me  good  morn- 
ing, that  I  felt  sure  something  had  happened." 

"And  she  frightened  you  so  that  you  did  not 
see  the  note,  that  was  all ;  I  will  run  right  down 
and  get  it  for  you."  But  the  note  was  not  where 
Van  had  placed  it,  nor  could  he  see  it  anywhere 
upon  the  grass.  It  was  very  strange,  for  there 
was  no  wind,  and  he  wondered  what  could  have 
spirited  it  away.  When  he  reentered  the  room, 
Eulalie  had  donned  her  new  waterproof ;  she 
had  thrown  the  hood  over  her  head  without  re- 
moving the  little  white  fichu  which  she  usually 
wore  out  of  doors.  She  saw  by  his  empty  hands 
that  Van  had  not  found  the  note,  and  an  expres- 
sion of  despair  came  into  her  face. 

"  Oh !  keep  that  pose  and  look  for  one  in- 
stant," he  cried  ;  "  it  is  exactly  that  of  Our  Lady 
of  Seven  Sorrows.  Orsovitch,  lend  me  your 
model  for  only  one  hour,  that 's  a  dear  fellow ; 
let  me  simply  block  in  a  sketch  ; "  and,  seizing 
his  palette,  Van  painted  rapidly  what  might  have 
been  taken  as  a  copy  of  the  figure  in  the  church 


*34  BOURBON  LILIES. 

window,  with  the  face  restored  and  glorified. 
The  fleur  de  Us  of  two  days  before  were  lying 
faded  at  her  feet  on  the  model  stand,  and  he 
painted  them  too.  When  he  had  finished,  he 
showed  her  his  work.  "  It  is  the  Virgin  herself," 
she  said  with  awe  ;  "  how  I  wish  I  might  have  a 
copy  of  it" 

" Keep  it,  if  you  like,"  said  Van  ;  "the  picture 
is  too  sad  a  one  for  my  liking ;  and  see,  I  have 
gayer  souvenirs  of  you,"  and,  opening  a  sketch- 
book, he  showed  her  some  twenty  drawings  of 
her  head  taken  from  different  points  of  view,  and 
giving  varying  phases  of  expression.  "While 
Orsovitch  has  been  painting,  I  have  been  busy 
with  pencil,"  he  said.  "You  are  welcome  to  the 
Mater  Dolorosa,  since  I  have  these." 

"Thanks  m'sieu,"  replied  Eulalie;  "I  shall 
frame  it  with  a  wreath  difleiir  de  Us ;  I  made  too 
many  the  other  day  for  my  garland  for  the  Virgin." 
As  she  laid  aside  her  cloak,  and  folded  it,  her 
eye  was  caught  by  the  embroidery.  "  But  this 
is  curious,"  said  she;  "this  is  the  thistle  pattern 
that  Sidonie  la  Poissonniere  invented.  She  is  the 
only  one  who  makes  it  here ; "  and  she  pointed 
out  the  graceful  curling  leaves  and  tassel-like 
blossoms. 

"It  may  be  that  it  was  she  who  made  this," 


CLOUDS  AND  FLOWERY  PATHS.  135 

said  Orsovitch,  "for  there  was  an  old  woman  in 
the  same  room  of  the  store  where  I  bought  it, 
whose  face  looked  strangely  familiar ;  and,  now 
I  think  of  it,  she  must  have  been  La  Gazette. 
The  girl  who  sold  the  waterproof  joked  about  its 
being  for  my  true  love,  and  the  little  old  woman 
looked  at  me  so  sharply  from  over  her  great 
basket,  that  I  noticed  her." 

"  It  was  she,"  said  Eulalie ;  "  she  told  my  aunt 
that  she  was  to  take  her  work  to  her  patron 
yesterday." 

A  cloud  seemed  to  have  come  over  them,  and 
conversation  languished.  "  Please  tell  us  some 
of  your  legends,"  said  Van. 

"  I  do  not  think  of  any  now,"  she  replied ; 
"but  I  will  sing  something,  if  you  wish.  I  am 
making  some  white  flowers  to-day,  you  see-  • 
they  are  roses  for  the  young  communicants ;  and 
when  these  are  finished,  there  is  an  order  for 
Madame  Robusti's  fete  day,  and,  if  you  like,  I 
will  sing  you  a  song  about  the  flowers." 

The  following  may  serve  as  a  translation  of 
Eulalie's  song.  The  witchery  was  all  in  the 
singing  and  the  singer:  — 


136  BOURBON  LILIES. 


FLEURS  STANCHES. 

White  flowers,  white  flowers,  all  flowers  among, 

Camellias,  jasmine,  roses ; 
'Tis  for  the  pure,  the  loved,  the  young, 

Each  sweet  bud  opes  and  closes. 

White  buds,  on  mossy  beds  at  rest, 
Like  children's  heads  on  mother's  breast, — 
Sweet  innocents,  that  bloom  beside 
Red  flowers  of  passion  and  of  pride, — 
Ye  have  not  felt  the  thorn  regret, 
Nor  known  the  canker-worm,  as  yet ; 
But  shine,  like  stars,  'mid  leafy  gloom ! 
Tis  for  the  young  white  roses  bloom. 

The  jasmine  blossoms,  faintly  sweet, 
Tell  of  a  bliss  not  yet  complete ; 
Midst  leafy  dusk,  like  maidens  coy, 
They  hide  their  sweetness  and  their  joy ; 
And  secrets,  told  by  orange  flowers, 
Are  safely  kept  in  jasmine  bowers. 
O  rare,  sweet  buds,  shedding  perfume, 
Tis  for  the  loved  ye  breathe  and  bloom 

Pale  altar  lilies,  stately  fair, 

What  garland  lies  beside  you  there  / 

Their  petals  'neath  the  taper's  light, 

Than  hands  that  hold  are  not  more  white,  — 

Those  waxy  hands  on  satin  laid, 

Whose  soul  was  whitest  God  e'er  made. 

O  marble  flowers,  on  marble  tomb, 

Tis  for  the  pure  camellias  bloom ! 

White  flowers,  white  flowers,  all  flowers  among, 

Camellias,  jasmine,  roses ; 
Tis  for  the  pure,  the  loved,  the  young, 

Each  sweet  bud  opes  and  closes. 


CLOUDS  AND  FLOWERY  PATHS.  137 

The  song  seemed  to  have  dispelled  the  cloud, 
for,  after  they  had  thanked  her,  Eulalie  said  : 
"  This  reminds  me  of  the  work-room  at  the  fleu- 
ristes  in  Paris,  where  I  made  flowers  after  leaving 
the  Maison  Eugenie,  until  I  came  to  Ecouen. 
We  used  to  sing  that  song  often,  though  there 
was  only  one  of  us  whose  specialty  it  was  to 
make  white  flowers,  and  that  was  little  Marie. 
She  was  the  picture  of  innocence,  that  child,  in 
her  long-sleeved,  high-necked  apron,  filling  a 
basket  like  that  with  great  branches  of  white 
lilac  ;  you  would  have  thought  her  an  angel,  she 
looked  so  sweet  and  saint-like,  with  her  great 
aureole  of  blonde  hair,  and,  meanwhile,  she  was 
the  completest  little  hypocrite  that  ever  lived. 
She  slept  in  the  same  room  with  Mademoiselle 
Ernestine,  the  forewoman,  who  had  the  keys  of 
the  great  safe  where  the  money  was  kept.  Our 
house  was  a  wholesale  one,  and  did  business 
with  England,  Russia,  and  America,  and  some- 
times there  was  a  great  deal  of  money  in  the  safe. 
Mademoiselle  Ernestine  had  been  in  the  house 
thirty  years,  and  was  known  to  be  perfectly 
trustworthy ;  but  the  money  began  to  go  all  the 
same,  and  no  one  could  find  out  the  thief. 
Monsieur  —  the  head  of  the  establishment — was 
for  making  a  great  fuss,  calling  in  the  police,  and 
18 


138  BOURBON   LILIES. 

discharging  all  the  employes ;  but  Mademoiselle 
Ernestine  said,  '  Just  wait  awhile ;  discharge  no 
one ;  wrong-doing  is  always  discovered,  if  you 
let  it  alone  long  enough.'  But  it  was  hard  to 
wait  patiently,  when,  regularly  every  night,  a 
five  hundred  franc  note  slipped  away.  We  were 
all  very  anxious  that  the  thief  should  be  found 
out,  for,  of  course,  until  that  was  done,  we  were 
all  suspected.  But,  dear  me,  one  can  never  judge 
by  appearances.  There  was  Reinette,  whose 
specialty  was  roses,  but  who  had  anything  but  a 
rosy  path  through  life,  poor  girl.  She  was  the 
handsomest  girl  in  the  establishment,  and  one  of 
the  most  skillful.  She  would  go  to  one  of  the 
flower  markets  every  day,  always  on  the  look-out 
for  roses.  She  invented  the  creamy  roses  folles, 
that  made  the  success  of  the  house  one  year, 
worn  with  a  long,  drooping  ostrich  plume  on  a 
Rubens  felt  hat.  She  seldom  made  but  one 
flower  a  day,  but  it  was  always  something  new, 
in  exquisite  taste,  and  with  a  style  of  its  own 
that  no  one  could  give  but  she.  She  never  made 
anything  that  was  not  chic,  though  everything 
was  copied  from  nature,  gloire  des  batailles,  or 
a  triomphe  de  Luxembourg,  or  a  spray  of  tender 
wild  roses  and  sweet  briar.  Then  she  would 
hand  it  into  the  work-room,  where  the  girls  would 


CLOUDS  AND  FLOWERY  PATHS.  139 

copy  it,  and  turn  out,  each  of  them,  a  gross  or 
so  a  day.  She  had  a  salary  which  ought  to 
have  kept  her  out  of  temptation ;  but  she  was 
known  to  be  in  trouble  about  this  time,  and  often 
came  to  the  room  with  her  cheeks  white  and  her 
eyes  swollen.  Mademoiselle  Ernestine  watched 
her  narrowly.  Such  a  head  as  that  woman  had 
—  she  ought  to  have  been  prefect  of  the  police,  or 
a  gendarme,  at  least.  She  followed  Reinette  to 
the  markets,  and  from  the  keepers  of  the  flower- 
stands  found  out  her  secret.  There  was  an 
artist  —  a  fan  decorator  —  who  used  to  come  to 
the  stalls,  too,  to  paint  flowers.  He  was  very 
clever,  and  made  lovely  fans.  I  have  seen  them 
for  sale  at  the  Palais  Royal  —  wreaths  and  gar- 
lands and  bouquets,  on  satin  and  gauze.  They 
brought  very  high  prices  ;  and  he  told  Reinette 
that  she  could  make  more  money  painting  flowers 
than  by  copying  them  in  her  way,  and  that  he 
would  teach  her, — ah,  gentlemen,  you  artists  are 
not  all  good !  —  and  now  he  had  gone  away, 
nobody  knew  where,  not  even  Reinette. 

"Mademoiselle  Ernestine  next  suspected  Zizi, 
a  girl  in  the  mourning  department,  who  had  a 
past  which  made  her  an  object  of  suspicion. 
She  had  been  a  ballet  girl  at  the  Gymnase,  but 
she  fell  from  the  flying  trapeze  and  broke  her  leg, 


140  BOURBON  LILIES. 

and  her  profession  was  closed  for  her.  But  mis- 
fortune could  not  take  away  Zizi's  love  of  fun ; 
she  was  always  playing  mad  pranks,  and  would 
come  stumping  down  the  stairs,  with  her  little 
crutch,  faster  than  any  of  us,  making  more  noise 
than  a  detachment  of  recruits  in  sabots,  and  sing- 
ing, with  all  her  might,  Pattes  de  Velours,  or  else 
Peau  de  Satin,  which  was  just  as  inappropriate, 
for  she  had  a  complexion  as  black  and  rough 
as  the  husk  of  a  walnut.  We  always  liked  to 
hear  her  coming,  and  would  say  to  one  another, 
'  There  is  Zizi ;  now  we  shall  laugh.'  Working 
over  mourning  goods  never  made  her  sad ;  she 
ridiculed  everything,  —  pain,  crime,  love,  happi- 
ness, and  death  itself.  Mademoiselle  Ernestine 
always  looked  at  her  out  of  the  corners  of  her 
eyes,  for  she  had  played  a  practical  joke  upon 
her  once.  About  this  time,  Paris  was  thrown 
into  a  furore  by  a  certain  mysterious  Mademoi- 
selle de  Barcelone,  who  had  rooms  at  the  Grand 
Hotel,  from  which  she  issued  at  six  o'clock  every 
evening,  to  ride  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  in  an 
elegant  coach,  lined  with  pink  satin.  It  was  said 
that  she  was  very  beautiful,  and  that  she  wore 
magnificent  costumes  and  jewelry.  She  had  a 
box  at  the  Opera  Comique,  where  she  appeared 
at  each  Sunday  or  Saturday  night  representa- 


CLOUDS  AND  FLOWERY  PATHS.  I41 

tion,  attired  in  a  resplendent  toilette.  People 
said,  too,  that  she  was  carrying  on  a  flirtation 
with  the  leading  actor,  then  the  handsomest  man 
in  Paris.  All  Paris  was  interested.  Some  said 
she  was  a  princess  in  disguise ;  some,  an  adven- 
turess. The  papers  discussed  her,  and  we  over 
our  work  discussed  the  papers.  Zizi  was  always 
the  most  interested.  'More  news  about  old 
Barcelone,'  she  would  say ;  '  depend  upon  it, 
she  's  an  impostor.  So  much  the  better.  Vive 
la  bagatelle  ! '  One  day  she  read  that  the  mys- 
terious lady  had  bought  a  five  thousand  franc 
ring  at  the  Palais  Royal,  destined,  no  doubt, 
for  the  fortunate  actor.  When  Mademoiselle 
Ernestine  heard  this,  her  eyebrows  contracted. 
On  the  night  preceding  the  purchase  of  the  ring, 
five  thousand  francs  had  been  abstracted  from 
the  safe.  The  coincidence  in  the  sums  was  re- 
markable, and  Mademoiselle  Ernestine  thought 
if  the  nightly  deficit  was  to  be  raised  from  hun- 
dreds to  thousands,  it  was  high  time  the  thief 
was  found.  'What  is  peculiar,'  said  Mademoi- 
selle Aglae,  the  workwoman  who,  next  to  Made- 
moiselle Ernestine,  had  been  longest  in  the  estab- 
lishment, and  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being 
the  greatest  fright,  as  Reinette  did  of  being  the 
beauty,  '  what  is  very  peculiar  is,  that  this  fine 


142  BOURBON  LILIES. 

lady  never  appears  until  after  five  in  the  after- 
noon. She  may  live  a  very  different  life  the 
earlier  part  of  the  day, — just  as  if  one  of  our 
girls  should  take  a  fancy  for  that  kind  of  mas- 
querading, and  should  leave  the  house  every 
afternoon  at  four.  She.  would  have  time  to  de- 
scend from  her  room  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  take 
her  drive,  return  to  it,  and  be  back  here  before 
the  doors  were  closed  ;  and  Saturday  and  Sunday 
evenings  all  the  girls  have  to  themselves.' 

"'A  very  ingenious  idea,'  said  Zizi,  'so  in- 
genious that  no  one  could  possibly  have  con- 
ceived it,  except  the  one  who  executed  it  also. 
Mesdemoiselles,  we  have  before  us  the  borrower 
of  the  funds  of  our  firm,  and  mysterious  Made- 
moiselle de  Barcelone,  standing  confessed,  in  one 
and  the  same  person,  Mademoiselle  Aglae  ! ' 

"  Everybody  screamed  with  laughter,  for,  as  I 
have  said,  Mademoiselle  de  Barcelone  was  said 
to  be  strikingly  handsome ;  and  the  idea  of  poor 
Mile.  Aglae',  with ~  her  thirty-eight  years,  her 
skeleton  figure  and  projecting  teeth,  taking  the 
part  of  this  enchanting  myth,  was  too  ridiculous. 
Mile.  Aglae  was  usually  quite  oblivious  to  jokes 
on  her  personal  appearance,  but  this  one,  with 
its  hint  at  theft,  made  her  furious ;  she  seized  a 
great  pair  of  shears,  and  there  would  have  been 


CLOUDS  AND  FLOWERY  PATHS.  143 

trouble,  had  not  Mademoiselle  Ernestine  taken 
them  away  from  her,  saying  gently,  '  Come, 
come,  my  good  Aglae",  you  are  above  suspicion, 
and  your  idea  is  worth  attention.  There  are  only 
two  girls  who  leave  at  four  o'clock  :  little  Marie, 
who  takes  her  old  mother  to  the  oculist  every 
afternoon  to  have  her  eyes  treated  ;  and  Zizi  has 
never  given  any  reason,  except  that  she  could 
work  more  rapidly  than  the  rest,  and  preferred, 
when  her  work  was  finished,  to  amuse  herself  by 
a  promenade.' 

"  '  Then  it  lies  between  you  and  me,  little 
Marie,'  said  Zizi  defiantly. 

"  Marie  did  not  reply  directly,  but,  turning  to 
Mademoiselle  Ernestine,  said,  '  I  am  told  the 
mysterious  lady  walks  with  a  limp.' 

"  '  When  the  mysterious  lady  next  appears,  she 
will  have  a  black  eye,'  shrieked  Zizi,  throwing 
the  ink-bottle,  which  stood  on  Mademoiselle  Er- 
nestine's desk,  across  the  room,  cutting  an  ugly 
gash  on  Marie's  forehead,  and  spoiling  the  bridal 
wreath  she  was  making.  Mademoiselle  Ernestine 
came  toward  Zizi  with  a  very  peculiar  expression 
upon  her  face,  and,  taking  her  by  the  arm,  led 
her  out  of  the  room.  Some  time  afterward,  Marie 
whispered  about  the  news  that  Zizi  was  locked 
up  with  her  work.  '  We  shall  see  now,'  she  added, 


144  BOURBON  LILIES. 

'whether  Mademoiselle  de  Barcelone  takes  her 
usual  drive,  and  appears  in  her  box  at  the  opera 
this  evening.'  Later  I  heard  Mile.  Aglae,  who 
had  been  sent  to  see,  report  that  her  coach  drew 
up  in  front  of  the  Grand  H6tel,  and  the  coach- 
man said  he  had  orders  to  call  for  her,  but 
Mademoiselle  de  Barcelone  was  not  in  her  room. 
Another  peculiar  thing  was,  that  for  several  days 
while  Zizi  was  in  confinement,  no  money  was 
taken.  Then  Mademoiselle  Ernestine  thought 
she  was  sure  of  her  affair,  and  she  had  Zizi 
arrested,  though  Reinette  and  I  persisted,  with 
all  our  might,  that  she  was  innocent.  Zizi 
proved,  at  her  trial,  exactly  where  she  had  been 
on  every  afternoon ;  and  others  testified  that 
Mademoiselle  de  Barcelone  had  been  seen  in 
public  since  her  imprisonment,  though  she  had 
never  gone  near  the  Grand  H6tel.  The  dresses 
which  she  had  left  there  could  never  have  fitted 
Zizi ;  and  all  who  had  seen  the  mysterious  lady 
asserted  that  no  disguise  could  have  made  Zizi 
resemble  her. 

"  Suspicion  next  fell  upon  Mademoiselle  Agla6 
herself,  not  as  having  anything  to  do  with  the 
Barcelone  affair,  but  as  being  the  thief.  It  was 
started  by  her  behavior  in  throwing  suspicion  on 
Zizi,  and  was  confirmed  by  her  giving  up  her 


CLOUDS  AND  FLOWERY  PATHS.  145 

position  in  the  house,  and  taking  passage  for 
Martinique,  immediately  on  Zizi's  arrest.  She 
was  very  much  provoked  at  being  detained  for 
the  trial,  and  Mademoiselle  Ernestine  felt  sure 
that  at  last  she  had  found  the  real  culprit.  But 
no  ;  that,  too,  was  satisfactorily  explained.  Mile. 
Aglae"  had  received  an  offer  of  marriage  from  an 
old  friend.  It  must  be  that  women  are  very 
scarce  in  Martinique,  or  he  would  never  have 
thought  of  her.  Naturally  she  was  impatient  to 
be  off.  Her  department  had  been  that  of  field 
flowers.  She  would  search  the  woods  from  spring 
to  autumn,  and  came  back  from  the  country  with 
a  herbarium  in  a  shawl-strap,  and  a  botanist's 
can  full  of  ferns  and  mosses,  grasses,  cones, 
and  all  sorts  of  wild  flowers,  with  sprays  of  ivy, 
and  other  vines.  It  was  greatly  owing  to  her 
skill  that  wheat  flowers  and  scarlet  cockles,  vio- 
lets, and  buttercups,  and  daisies  became  so  fash- 
ionable for  spring  wear.  One  cannot  have  all 
the  good  gifts ;  and  if  one  is  lacking  in  one 
direction,  it  is  often  made  up  in  another.  Mile. 
Aglae"  was  homely  and  clever,  studied  botany  out 
of  working  hours,  and  knew  thoroughly  all  the 
wild  flowers  of  France.  Lately  I  have  heard 
that  she  has  written  a  book  on  the  flora  of  the 
country  where  she  lives." 
19 


146  BOURBON   LILIES. 

"And  was  this  thief  never  found?"  asked 
Orsovitch. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Just  as  I  began  to  think  that  it 
was  my  turn  to  be  suspected,  I  was  walking 
through  the  street  on  which  is  the  Hdtel  Drouot, 
when  I  saw  a  very  large  photograph  in  a  window, 
and  I  said  to  myself,  '  Tiens,  how  much  that 
looks  like  our  little  Marie!'  but  I  saw  that  it 
could  not  be  she,  for  the  lady  was  dressed,  a  la 
grande  dame,  in  white  satin  and  point  lace.  I 
told  Mademoiselle  Ernestine,  and  the  next  day 
she  went  with  me.  '  It  is  Marie,'  said  she.  The 
photographer  said  that  it  was  the  celebrated 
Mademoiselle  de  Barcelone,  but  that  she  had 
never  called  for  it.  And  so  Marie  was  found 
out,  for  her  mother  had  never  had  anything  the 
matter  with  her  eyes ;  and  every  afternoon  Marie 
had  gone  to  a  room  which  she  had  rented  in  the 
Latin  Quarter,  changed  her  work  apron  for  a 
waterproof  and  bonne's  cap,  gone  out  and  made 
purchases,  which  she  said  were  for  her  mistress, 
and  which  she  carried  to  the  Grand  Hotel.  No- 
body noticed  her  in  the  halls,  there  were  so  many 
servants,  until  she  descended  the  grand  staircase 
as  Mademoiselle  de  Barcelone  ;  and  yet,  the  child 
had  the  face  of  an  angel,  with  her  fluffy  blonde 
hair,  her  sweet  blue  eyes,  and,  above  all,  hei 


CLOUDS  AND  FLOWERY  PATHS.  147 

innocent  expression ;  and  she  was  only  sixteen 
years  old !  How  I  have  run  on.  You  should 
tell  me  not  to  talk  when  I  weary  you." 

"You  interest  me  very  much,"  replied  Orso- 
vitch.  "  It  is  growing  late  ;  but  to-morrow,  when 
you  come,  tell  me  some  more  stories  of  your 
friends'  lives.  They  introduce  me  to  a  class  of 
society  new  to  me,  and  to  which  I  had  never 
before  given  a  thought." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

SOME    HIGH    SOCIETY. 

"The  first  was  dressed  in  rose-red  silk, 

And  the  second  in  velvet  green, 
The  third  in  satin  as  white  as  milk, — 
Would  their  souls  as  white  had  been." 

T)APA  Robust!  was  a  painter  whose  reputa- 
A  tion  was  made  in  a  single  picture,  received 
at  the  Salon,  well  hung,  medaled  and  purchased 
by  the  government.  He  might  have  gained  a 
fabulous  income,  had  he  been  a  hard  worker. 
The  picture  dealers  clamored  for  his  paintings, 
and  he  snapped  his  fingers  at  them.  Amateurs 
flocked  to  see  him,  and  he  entertained  them 
right  royally,  listened  to  their  honeyed  words  of 
compliment,  but  sent  them  empty-handed  away. 
Madame  Robusti  and  Corinne,  who  would  have 
liked  a  larger  margin  for  spending-money,  wept 
and  entreated  ;  but  his  reply  was  ever,  "  I  have 
achieved  one  success  ;  I  know  better  than  to 
follow  it  up  with  a  failure."  And  so  Papa  Ro- 

(148) 


i.W  Angeles,  Cal, 

SOME   HIGH   SOCIETY.  1 49 

bust!  never  followed  it  up  with  anything,  but 
lived  a  life  of  elegant  leisure  on  the  interest  of 
money  placed  in  certain  safe  though  inartistic 
investments. 

The  day  on  which  Eulalie  had  posed  for  Orso- 
vitch,  and  had  told  the  histories  of  the  flower  girls, 
was  Mamma  Robusti's  fete  day.  The  young  men 
had  received  much  kindness  from  the  worthy  lady, 
and,  according  to  established  custom,  had  pre- 
sented themselves  at  her  house  on  the  previous 
evening,  to  offer  their  compliments  and  two  enor- 
mous bouquets.  Van,  whose  unlucky  blundering 
pursued  him  like  an  avenging  spirit,  carried  a 
bouquet  composed  of  white  lilac,  white  hyacinths 
and  tube  roses,  and  learned  afterwards  that 
Madame  Robusti  was  afflicted  with  a  sort  of 
chronic  hay  fever,  and  that  all  of  her  friends 
were  particular  to  give  her  only  scentless  flowers. 
What  made  the  mistake  doubly  unfortunate  was 
„  the  fact  that  in  France  white  flowers  typify  youth 
or  death,  and  such  a  gift  to  a  lady  of  over  sixty 
summers  was,  in  either  light,  a  decided  imperti- 
nence.  But  Madame  Robusti  loved  foreigners, 
and  easily  forgave  their  mistakes ;  she  spoke  a 
little  English,  and  usually  managed  to  have  sev- 
eral Americans  at  each  of  her  receptions.  All 
who  called  in  acknowledgment  of  her  fete  were 


BOURBON   LILIES. 


invited  to  a  dinner  on  the  following  day.  As  soon 
as  Eulalie  had  taken  her  departure  the  young 
men  commenced  their  preparations  for  the  even- 
ing. "  Sport  your  white  tie  and  lightest  gloves, 
Van,"  said  Orsovitch.  "  This  is  a  dress  affair, 
and  we  are  likely  to  meet  some  high  society.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  my  friend,  the  Due  de 
Champnoix,  were  there.  You  must  look  your 
best,  for  little  Corinne  will  have  all  the  dandies 
of  her  acquaintance  to  compare  you  with  to- 
night." Corinne  was  the  daughter  of  the  house, 
and  Van  had  found  himself  often  in  her  society 
during  the  past  winter.  Time  was  when  the 
remark  which  Orsovitch  had  just  made,  uttered 
when  he  was  performing  the  delicate  operation  of 
shaving,  would  have  occasioned  him  two  or  three 
cuts,  but  now  he  went  through  its  performance 
with  a  tolerably  steady  hand. 

The  Robustis  lived  at  Villa  La  Joyeuse,  in  a 
neighboring  village,  —  a  lordly  piece  of  property, 
though  not  kept  up  in  its  former  grandeur.  The 
house,  an  elegant  mansion  in  the  style  of  an 
Italian  villa,  dated  from  the  year  1500,  and  was 
situated  in  the  midst  of  a  magnificent  park.  Van, 
while  he  envied  Orsovitch  the  grace  with  which 
he  bowed  himself  into  the  immense  white  salon, 
already  partly  filled  with  guests,  to  render  his 


SOME   HIGH   SOCIETY.  I  5  * 

own  bashful  awkwardness  less  conspicuous,  en- 
tered in  the  wake  of  an  excessively  dressed  lady, 
and,  occupied  by  the  phenomenon  of  seeing  him- 
self reflected  and  re-reflected  five  times  in  the 
grand  Venetian  mirrors,  and  in  thinking  what  a 
good  lesson  it  was  in  perspective,  got  himself 
hopelessly  entangled  in  her  train  and  a  Persian 
rug,  which  slipped  about  on  the  polished  floor 
as  though  it  were  bewitched.  He  did  not  fall, 
but  felt  himself  grow  very  red  in  the  face 
during  the  process  of  disentanglement.  Not  so 
the  lady,  who  was  perfectly  mistress  of  the 
occasion,  and  who  said,  languidly,  "  You  are  an 
American,  are  you  not  ?  So  glad !  Will  you 
be  so  good  as  to  take  me  up  to  the  mistress 
of  the  house  ?  I  don't  know  her  at  all,  and 
my  giddy  little  sister  has  run  off  with  that 
horrid  Mr.  Goth.  I  'm  Mrs.  Poser  from  Chicago, 
but  she  wont  know  me  by  that  name.  Say, 
please,  that  I  'm  Miss  Fitz  Flirt's  sister ;  Fanny 
it>  one  of  his  scholars,  —  at  least,  she  brings  hei 
pictures  to  him  for  criticism." 

As  they  passed  through  the  room,  Van  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  Misses  Pauline  and  Precosia 
Pry.  "  There  are  two  of  our  compatriots,"  said 
he.  "  Perhaps  you  are  acquainted  with  them." 

"  I ! "  replied  Mrs.  Poser,  "  why,  I  make  it  a  point 


152  BOURBON  LILIES. 

never  to  know  Americans ;  I  consider  it  just  so 
much  valuable  time  wasted.  I  came  abroad  to 
learn  the  languages,  to  have  the  advantages  of 
foreign  society,  to  —  to  —  well,  not  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  my  own  countrymen.  Fanny 
has  hosts  of  American  friends,  chiefly  young 
gentlemen.  She  can't  help  it,  they  will  find 
her  out ;  and  she  is  so  impulsive  that  she  don't 
discourage  them,  as  she  ought.  There's  that 
Mr.  Norman  Saxon  Goth,  that  she  is  talking 
with  now ;  he  is  such  a  great  traveler,  and  so 
very  cosmopolitan,  that,  really,  I  don't  object  to 
him  ;  but,  I  assure  you,  it  is  a  great  responsibility 
to  chaperone  such  an  attractive  girl  as  Fanny." 

After  presenting  the  lady  to  his  hostess,  Van 
found  himself  for  an  instant  by  the  side  of  Co- 
rinne.  She  was  dressed  very  simply  and  prettily 
in  white  muslin,  and  let  her  eyes  fall  modestly  as 
he  approached.  She  had  only  monosyllabic  re- 
plies for  all  his  remarks,  and  never  ventured  an 
idea  of  her  own.  He  had  always  found  her  so ; 
always  the  white  dress,  always  the  modest  falling 
lashes,  and  sweet  silent  lips  ;  but  then,  Mamma 
Robusti's  volubility  left  no  room  for  conversation, 
and  her  quiet  seemed  refreshing  in  contrast. 
To-night,  as  he  plied  her  with  one  leading  ques- 
tion after  another  with  the  same  ill  success,  he 


SOME   HIGH   SOCIETY.  153 

asked  himself  if  her  silence  were  all  diffidence 
or  partly  stupidity ;  then  he  grew  angry  with 
himself.  Would  it  be  any  better  to  be  pertly 
and  impertinently  forward,  like  Precosia  Pry,  or 
insinuatingly  familiar,  like  Mrs.  Poser  ?  Which 
did  he  prefer,  American  or  French  society  ?  He 
did  not  answer  the  question,  for  his  thought  flew 
to  another  French  girl,  and  he  felt  sure  that  her 
bearing  in  such  a  company  would  be  different 
from  either  type.  He  was  awakened  from  his 
reverie  by  the  announcement  of  dinner,  and  by 
Mamma  Robusti's  whispered  permission  to  take 
the  dear  girl  down.  In  the  general  procession 
he  found  himself  just  behind  Orsovitch,  who  was 
escorting  the  young  lady  whom  Mrs.  Poser  had 
pointed  out  as  her  sister,  and  whom  we  already 
know  as  Fanny  Fitz  Flirt.  Their  conversation 
floated  back  to  him,  and,  as  he  and  Corinne  had 
nothing  to  say,  he  could  hardly  help  listening 
to  it. 

"  So  you  have  seen  Miss  Precosia  Pry's  grand 
picture,"  said  Orsovitch  ;  "  what  do  you  think 
of  it  ? " 

"  I  think  it  the  most  remarkable  bit  of  mosaic 
I  ever  saw." 

"  Mosaic  ?     I  hardly  comprehend." 

"Well,  I  dorit  mean  album  of  contributions 


154  BOURBON   LILIES. 

from  friends.  I  won't  say  that  another  artist 
than  Precosia  has  ever  touched  a  brush  to  it,  but 
every  idea,  every  object  in  the  picture  is  copied 
and  stolen.  If  the  cards  of  the  artists  who  have 
indirectly  contributed  to  that  picture  were  strung 
rosary  fashion,  and  tied  to  it,  the  whole  affair 
would  resemble  a  kite  with  the  most  extraordi- 
narily long  tail  conceivable.  Perhaps  it  does  not 
come  strictly  under  the  head  of  artistic  forgery, 
but,  for  my  part,  whatever  faults  a  picture  has,  I 
ask  that  it  should  be  original.  *  Do  see  it  your- 
self, and  tell  me  if  the  general  composition  of 
the  picture  is  not  taken  from  No.  —  of  the  battle 
scenes  at  Versailles,  if  the  sky  is  not  a  direct 
copy  from  one  of  Theodore  Frere's,  if  the  first 
sketches  from  which  the  horses  were  painted 
could  have  ever  been  drawn  by  any  oae  but  Du 
Cheval  —  they  are  so  badly  painted  that  the 
original  fine  sketching  is  almost  obliterated,  but 
one  can  see  perfectly  that  the  one  who  colored  so 
wretchedly  could  never  have  drawn  the  first  out- 
lines in  so  masterly  away.  And  then  the  Asiatic 
types,  they  are  taken  directly  from  young  Le 
Maure's  sketches  last  winter  among  the  Arabs. 
As  for  foreground  studies,  and  the  wounded  and 
dying  men,  the  figures  betray  too 'much  fine  fore- 
shortening and  knowledge  of  anatomy ;  some  of 


SOME   HIGH   SOCIETY.  155 

those  sharp-drawn  features  were  sketched  in  the 
morgue  and  at  the  time  of  the  Commune,  and 
Precosia  Pry  never  did  it.  The  picture  does  not 
hang  together  at  all." 

"  Behold  how  you  Americans  love  one  another," 
said  Orsovitch,  sarcastically ;  and  then  Van  lost 
him  in  the  confusion  of  looking  for  names  on  the 
comic  dinner  cards,  indicating  the  place  of  each 
guest. 

The  floral  offerings  of  the  night  before  orna- 
mented the  table.  In  front  of  Van  stood  a 
graceful  basket  of  magnificent  purple  and  white 
lilac.  "  What  perfect  flowers !  "  was  his  excla- 
mation. 

"That  was  Miss  Fitz  Flirt's  gift,"  replied 
Corinne ;  "  they  ought  to  be  perfect,  they  are 
not  natural." 

"Yes;  are  they  not  lovely?"  chimed  in  Mrs. 
Poser,  who  sat  opposite.  "  My  sister  had  them 
made  to  order  by  the  little  milliner  at  Ecouen  ; 
she  makes  exquisite  things  !  " 

"  She  has  made  a  great  many  flowers  for  me," 
said  Corinne.  "  I  have  one  party  dress  trimmed 
with  roses  en  deux  tons" 

"  Two  tons  of  artificial  flowers  !  Surely  not  on 
one  dress,"  exclaimed  the  astonished  Van,  while 
the  working  of  Corinne's  face  told  plainly  her 


BOURBON  LILIES. 


intense  d-ts  re  to  laugh  ;  she  only  conquered  it  by 
continuing  the  conversation  :  "  It  was  a  great  deal 
prettier  than  the  dress  I  have  on,  though  mamma 
bought  this  at  Worth's,  touteconfectionnte" 

Van  glanced  at  the  young  lady's  attire,  half 
expecting  to  find  it  garnished  with  bon  bans,  and, 
in  his  surprise  at  not  seeing  any  kind  of  con- 
fectionery upon  it,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
attempted  a  French  joke.  "  I  hope  you  got  it 
at  a  prix  donx"  said  he  ;  but  Corinne  did  not 
understand,  and,  somewhat  piqued  at  the  impli- 
cation of  cheapness,  devoted  herself  to  her 
coffee,  and  made  no  further  attempts  at  chat. 
After  the  dinner,  Mamma  Robusti  took  his  arm, 
and  upbraided  him  for  not  having  called  oftener  ; 
gave  him  pleasant  little  details  of  their  last  sum- 
mer at  Biarritz,  and  promised  that  after  one  or 
two  other  ladies  had  kindly  given  them  some 
music,  Corinne  should  "  sing  for  him  an  Ameri- 
can ballad  which  a  so  pleasing  foreigner  whom 
they  had  met  at  the  seaside  had  taught  her.  There 
were  very  many  Inglees  at  Biarritz,  and  they 
were  all  enchant^  with  the  ballad,  which  was 
very  a  la  mode  in  America."  Van  listened  with 
high  expectation  to  the  first  notes  struck  on  the 
little  upright  piano  by  modest  Corinne.  He 
expected  to  hear  "  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  or 


SOME   HIGH   SOCIETY.  157 

the  "Last  Rose  of  Summer,"  and  was  hardly 
able  to  preserve  his  gravity  when  Corinne  sang, 
with  much  pathos  and  dignity,  — 

"  Oh !  vare,  and  oh  I  vare, 
Has  my  leetle  tog  gone." 

"Why  do  you  smile  ? "  asked  Mamma  Robusti. 
"  Is  there  anything  in  that  song  not  suitable  for 
a  young  girl  to  sing?  You  Americans  are  so 
very  free.  Ah !  if  the  dear  girl  knew  that  she 
was  singing  anything  improper  she  would  cry 
immediately,  she  is  so  very  sensible."  (Mamma 
Robusti  meant  sensitive,  and  Van  fortunately 
understood  her.)  "Do  you  know  all  these 
American  ladies  ? "  she  rattled  on,  partly  in 
French  and  partly  in  English ;  "  one  sees  so 
many  more  of  them  nowadays.  I  suppose  it  is 
because  the  opening  of  the  Suez  Canal  shortens 
the  voyage.  Am  I  not  right  ? "  There  was 
something  so  appealing  in  the  little  woman's 
ignorance,  that  Van  could  only  assent  that  it 
made  a  very  considerable  saving  in  distance, 
provided  one  went  that  way.  "  If  she  can  only 
forgive  my  blunders,"  he  thought,  "  I  am  sure 
I  can  hers,  funny  as  they  are."  At  this  point 
Papa  Robusti  invited  several  of  the  gentlemen 
to  his  studio,  saying  he  wished  to  introduce 
them  to  some  distinguished  guests.  They  were 


158  BOURBON  LILIES. 

three  portraits,  which  he  had  recently  pur- 
chased, and  took  this  opportunity  of  exhibiting 
to  his  friends.  "All  of  these  ladies,"  said  he, 
as  he  drew  aside  the  curtain,  behind  which 
the  easels  supporting  the  paintings  were  ranged, 
"have  been  more  familiar  with  this  house  than 
we  are.  The  one  in  rose-colored  silk,  standing 
in  the  open  window,  is  Marie  de  Valois,  Duchesse 
la  Joyeuse,  for  several  years  Lady  of  Ecouen 
after  the  sway  of  the  Montmorencis.  This 
house  was  her  favorite  residence,  and  I  am 
confident  that  the  portrait  was  painted  here. 
Examine  the  background  and  you  have  a  view 
of  my  park  from  the  balcony  of  the  '  chambre 
rose'  It  represents  a  fete  champetre,  for  there 
are  gentlemen  and  ladies  inWatteau  costumes 
promenading  on  the  lawn,  and  the  gilded  sedan 
chairs,  which  have  brought  them  from  Paris, 
are  waiting  under  the  great  trees  on  the  right. 
The  lady  on  the  other  side,  in  white  satin,  is 
•  Diane  de  Poitiers.  I  had  this  portrait  copied  from 
the  one  at  Versailles,  in  order  to  make  my  trio 
complete.  The  old  Connetable  de  Montmorenci 
was  her  firm  friend,  and  she  spent  much  of  her 
time  here  during  the  reign  of  Francis  I.  The 
central  picture  is  the  gem  of  my  collection.  It 
is  Charlotte  de  Montmorenci,  daughter  of  the 


SOME   HIGH   SOCIETY.  159 

connetable.  Chronologically,  too,  she  comes  in 
between  the  other  two  ladies.  The  picture  was 
purchased  for  me  in  Brussels,  where  she  took 
refuge  when  the  infatuation  of  King  Henry  of 
Navarre  drove  her  from  the  court,  and  from  her 
own  home." 

Van  glanced  at  the  face,  and  started  with  sur- 
prise :  Eulalie's  eyes  were  looking  at  him  from  the 
canvas,  there  was  Eulalie's  forehead  and  'Eulalie's 
hair,  but  the  lower  part  of  the  face  was  sharper, 
more  markedly  French  in  outline,  while  the  con- 
tour of  Eulalie's  cheek  and  chin  was  so  soft  and 
rounded  that  it  had  often  made  him  think  of  the 
prettiest  peasant  girls  of  Brabant.  He  looked  at 
Orsovitch,  but  he  betrayed  no  surprise,  and  was 
apparently  examining  the  portrait  as  a  connois- 
seur, with  an  eye  to  its  artistic  merits  only. 

"  Does  it  resemble  any  one  that  you  have  ever 
seen  ? "  asked  Van  impulsively. 

Orsovitch  frowned  slightly,  and  replied  coolly, 
"  It  reminds  me  of  the  Virgin  of  the  Adoration 
in  the  Raphael  window  of  our  little  church." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Papa  Robusti.  "  The 
Raphael  window  was  placed  in  the  church  shortly 
before  the  marriage  of  Charlotte  ;  it  may  be  that 
her  father  selected  it  on  account  of  the  resem- 
blance in  the  face  of  the  Virgin  to  that  of  hi« 
daughter." 


160  BOURBON  LILIES. 

"  Do  you  think  this  an  original  portrait  ? " 
asked  one  of  the  guests. 

"  It  bears  the  signature  of  Porbus,"  replied  the 
host  proudly. 

Van  sudied  the  picture  attentively.  It  was  a 
half-length  portrait.  A  green  velvet  riding  habit, 
richly  sewn  down  the  front  with  jewels,  draped  the 
slight  but  resolute  figure ;  her  hands  were  filled 
with  her  husband's  lilies,  while  on  a  ribbon-like 
scroll  which  encircled  them  was  inscribed  the 
device,  "  Date  manibus  lilia  plenis"  The  gentle- 
man who  had  been  pointed  out  to  Van  as  Mr. 
Norman  Saxon  Goth,  remarked  that  this  was  one 
of  the  mottoes  of  the  Bourbon  family.  After  a 
little  longer  inspection  of  other  paintings,  the 
gentlemen  strolled  down  into  the  parlors,  spend- 
ing the  rest  of  the  evening  in  alternately  dancing 
and  playing  billiards.  There  was  something  quite 
ridiculous  to  Van  in  their  tumultuous  entrance, 
choosing  the  first  partners  they  happened  to  meet, 
whirling  them  violently  through  a  waltz  too 
rapidly  to  admit  of  conversation,  dropping  them 
into  a  window  seat  with  an  awkward  bow,  and 
instantaneously  retreating  en  masse  to  the  billiard 
room  as  soon  as  the  music  ceased.  The  smoke 
in  this  sacred  retreat  nearly  strangled  him,  and 
he  ventured  to  remain  in  the  parlors  between  two 


SOME  HIGH  SOCIETY.  l6l 

of  the  dances.  His  presence  seemed  to  act  as  a 
dead  weight  upon  the  ladies  ;  as  soon  as  they  per- 
ceived him  all  conversation  ceased.  Mamma 
Robusti  crossed  the  room  and  assured  him  that 
she  was  so  glad  he  had  stopped,  as  they  were  just 
going  to  serve  a  very  aristocratic  American 
drink,  and  she  wanted  his  opinion  as  to  whether 
her  "  Ponch  au  rhum  "  was  a  success.  In  effect, 
the  ladies  were  refreshing  themselves  with  rum 
punch,  under  the  impression  that  they  were  fol- 
lowing the  example  of  the  highest-toned  Ameri- 
can society.  Nor  did  Mrs.  Poser  undeceive  her 
hostess,  but  sipped  her  tiny  glass  with  evident 
satisfaction. 

As  Orsovitch  and  Van  walked  homeward  in  the 
clear,  broad  moonlight,  Van  admitted  that  he  did 
not  much  enjoy  French  high  society. 

"You  haven't  seen  it  yet,"  said  Orsovitch; 
"  that  was  only  bourgeoisie — half-way  stuff.  Give 
me  a  princess  of  the  blood  or  a  peasant  girl : 
extremes  meet  In  my  opinion,  the  society  of 
flower  girls  that  Eulalie  described  is  in  every 
way  superior  to  that  in  which  we  have  just 
mingled.  I  doubt  if  there  was  a  single  lady 
among  them  as  deep  a  specialist  in  any  scientific 
study  as  Mademoiselle  Aglae"  in  botany.  Cer- 
tainly Reinette  must  have  been  prettier  than  any 


' 62  BOURBON  LILIES. 

girl  there,  and  Zizi  infinitely  more  witty  and 
agreeable.  In  fascinating  power,  I  would  match 
little  Marie  against  Miss  Fitz  Flirt,  and  in  what 
society  will  you  find  a  more  perfect  lady  than  our 
Eulalie?" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

ONE    RAINY    DAY. 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain  I 

After  the  dust  and  heat, 

In  the  broad  and  fiery  street, 

In  the  narrow  lane, 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain  I 

LONGFELLOW. 

T  TOW   soothingly  the   gentle   rain   fell    that 
night.     It  wove  itself  with  Van's  dreams 
and  his  waking  thoughts,  until  he  could  scarcely 
distingush  the  one  from  the  other. 

Grateful  rain :  springing  like  thankful  tears  from 
reservoirs  so  full  of  content  and  sweetness  that 
they  could  hold  no  more.  Pitiful  rain  :  weeping 
a  sorrow  not  its  own  ;  falling  steadily  on  graves 
over  which  no  other  tear-drops  had  ever  fallen, 
moistening  afresh  the  sod  over  neglected  and  for- 
gotten ones,  freshening  the  garlands  laid  yester- 
day on  those  whose  care  showed  there  were 
hearts  who  could  never  forget.  Comforting  rain : 
bringing  a  message  of  good  cheer  to  those  who, 

(163) 


BOURBON  LILIES. 


while  the  world  slept  about  them,  still  watched 
and  wept  a  sin  long  since  washed  away  and  for- 
given, or  a  sorrow  that  refused  to  be  healed  ; 
telling  them  that  the  same  God  "who  covereth 
the  heaven  with  clouds,  who  prepareth  rain  for 
the  earth,  healeth  the  broken  in  heart,  and  bindeth 
up  their  wounds." 

Very  tender  and  loving  was  the  message  which 
the  rain  brought  that  night,  alike  to  the  happy, 
the  sorrowing,  and  the  sinning  —  to  all  who  had 
ears  to  hear.  It  still  rained,  when  late  in  the 
morning  Van  entered  the  studio  and  found  Orso- 
vitch  seated  with  a  discontented  air  before  his 
picture. 

"  What  disgusting  weather,"  said  he  ;  "  there  is 
no  light  and  shade  ;  I  shall  not  be  able  to  paint 
on  my  Leda.  How  provoking  it  is  !  just  my  luck, 
too  ;  if  I  had  commenced  a  picture  requiring  a 
grey  day,  we  should  have  had  brilliant  sunshine," 
and  opening  the  door  he  stepped  out  upon  the 
balcony,  and  regarded  the  sky  with  a  glance  as 
lowering. 

"  It  is  really  too  bad,"  replied  Van.  "  I  shall 
miss  her  pleasant  little  stories.  I  never  thought 
there  could  be  anything  of  interest  in  the  lives  of 
apprentices  in  an  establishment  for  making  arti- 
ficial flowers.  Yet  look  at  those  four  girls,  as 


ONE   RAINY   DAY.  165 

Eulalie  sketched  them  :  beautiful  Reinette,  wild 
Zizi,  hypocritical  <Marie,  and  Mademoiselle  Aglae 
the  botanist.  A  novel  might  be  written,  without 
enlarging  in  the  least,  on  the  events  of  their 
lives." 

Orsovitch  shrugged  his  shoulders  after  the 
French  fashion,  which  Van  detested,  on  account 
of  its  expression  of  utter  indifference.  "  I  would 
much  rather  know  something  of  Eulalie's  life," 
he  said  —  "  how  she  ever  became  engaged  to  old 
Grumpy  Frumpy  at  the  chateau." 

"  She  would  never  tell  you  that,"  Van  replied. 

"  Of  course  not ;  you  do  not  suppose  I  thought 
her  capable  of  recounting  her  love  affairs  in  La 
Gazette  style  to  whoever  cared  to  hear.  Halloo, 
here  is  old  Father  Dazy  looming  up  the  street 
with  a  marvelous  claret-colored  umbrella.  What 
business  can  that  old  flower  of  spring  have  here  ? 
If  it  is  to  beg  a  sitting,  he  might  as  well  have 
kept  his  umbrella  dry  ;  I  think  I  see  myself  paint- 
ing such  a  scarecrow  as  he  is." 

"Perhaps  he  has  come  with  some  message 
from  Eulalie,"  Van  suggested  ;  "  he  is  her  uncle, 
and  might  be  both  able  and  willing  to  give  you 
the  information  you  wish  in  regard  to  her.  He 
gave  me,  unasked,  his  own  history  one  day  in  the 
church-yard,  and  Eulalie's  pedigree  through  her 


T06  BOURBON  LILIES. 

mother  and  grandfather,  with  the  lives  of  various 
other  relatives  and  friends.  I  have  no  doubt  he 
would  have  gone  on  talking  to  the  present 
moment,  if  I  had  waited  to  listen." 

Van's  remark  had  a  very  appreciable  effect  on 
Orsovitch.  Not  minding  the  rain,  he  ran  down- 
stairs and  met  Pere  Paquerette  at  the  gate.  One 
minute,  five  minutes  passed,  and  Van  began  to 
fear  his  friend  would  receive  a  thorough  wetting. 
Stepping  to  the  door,  he  saw  him  standing  in 
an  angle  of  the  gateway,  sheltered  by  Pere 
Paquerette's  umbrella.  They  seemed  to  be  just 
finishing  their  conversation,  for  they  shook  hands 
like  equals,  and  Van  was  never  more  surprised 
when  Orsovitch  (than  whom  no  more  aristocratic 
socialist  ever  lived)  drew  from  his  case  a  cigar, 
lighted  it  at  Pere  Paquerette's  clay  pipe,  then, 
turning,  ran  lightly  up  the  stairs  and  met  him  at 
the  door. 

"  Pere  Paquerette  is  coming  to  pose  for  me 
to  day,"  said  he;  "he  came  to  ask  whether  I 
should  want  Eulalie." 

"  I  thought  you  intimated  that  nothing  could 
induce  you  to  paint  that  old  scarecrow." 

"  There,  Van,  none  of  your  chaff,  or  I  shall  not 
let  you  sit  and  hear  what  he  has  to  say  about 
Eulalie." 


ONE   RAINY    DAY.  167 

"  You  are  going  to  ask  him  how  she  became 
engaged  to  Amedee  ? " 

"  No,  my  dear  old  blunderhead,"  said  he,  re- 
placing the  Leda  on  his  easel  by  a  blank  canvas ; 
"  I  flatter  myself  I  am  not  so  unsophisticated  as 
that.  Don't  you  know  that  people  never  tell  with 
any  spirit  what  you  ask  for?  Besides,  the  old 
gentleman  would  get  an  idea  that  you  or  I  were 
interested  in  his  niece,  and  would  be  as  tight  as 
a  clam.  Would  be  sure  to  tell  her,  too,  we  had 
tried  to  pump  him,  and  we  could  not  get  her  to 
come  again.  I  will  set  him  talking  on  "some  side 
topic  that  will  lead  that  way,  and  you  shall  see 
fiim  running  into  it  of  his  own  accord,  telling  all 
he  knows  on  the  subject.  After  which  I  shall 
make  him  think  he  has  rather  bored  me,  and  he 
will  go  away  ashamed  of  his  garrulity,  and  in  no 
way  inclined  to  mention  it  at  home." 

The  plan  seemed  to  Van  a  good  one,  and  he 
could  not  too  much  admire  its  successful  working 
at  the  commencement. 

When  Van  sauntered  into  the  studio  after  the 
morning  meal,  he  found  Pere  Paquerette  seated 
at  a  rough  little  table,  against  which  leaned  his 
dripping  umbrella,  slowly  forming  a  'pool  of  dark 
water.  The  hand  which  rested  upon  his  knee 
held  his  pipe,  the  other,  with  fingers  half  open  and 


1 68  BOURBON  LILIES. 

arm  partly  extended,  was  making  a  gesture  explan- 
atory of  something  which  he  might  have  been 
saying. 

"  This  is  my  idea,"  explained  Orsovitch.  "  I 
intend  to  make  him  the  central  figure  of  a  group  ; 
he  is  telling  a  story,  and  the  others  shall  be  listen- 
ing. A  young  girl  on  this  side,  profile  perdue,  a 
little  boy  in  front  of  her,  standing  back  to  us, 
some  toy,  say  a  kite,  held  behind  him  —  so,"  and 
Orsovitch  chalked  in  the  places  of  the  figures. 
"  Then  for  background  to  fill  up  this  space  on  the 
right,  I  will  show  part  of  a  window  with  the  rain 
falling  and  people  passing  with  umbrellas. " 

"  What  will  you  call  it  ? "  Van  asked. 

"  Oh,  that  is  of  the  least  importance,  provided 
only  a  picture  is  expressive,  it  names  itself.  To 
Mr.  X.,  it  is  '  Recollections  of  My  Childhood  ; ' 
to  Col.  Y.,  it  is  'How  we  Took  the  Fort ; '  for 
Mrs.  Z.,  it  is  'The  Village  Story  Teller;'  for 
me,  it  is  simply  '  One  Rainy  Day.'  As  that 
name  is  simple,  and  meaningless  enough  not  to 
conflict  with  any  of  their  fancies,  or  with  those  it 
may  suggest  to  some  imaginative  purchaser,  I  shall 
call  it  so.  Come,  Pere  Paquerette,  a  little  more 
expression,  as  if  you  were  telling  a  capital  good 
thing  at  the  Esp6rance  to  some  of  the  other 
boys ! " 


ONE   RAINY  DAY.  169 

"When  I  tell  stories  at  the  Esperance,"  said 
Pere  Paquerette,  "  it  is  always  over  a  bock  of  beer, 
a  bock  of  good  beer  from  Strasbourg." 

"And  that's  a  very  good  idea,"  said  Orso- 
vitch,  placing  a  tall  pewter  tankard  on  the  table, 
and  a  still  larger,  gaudily  painted  earthenware 
jug  of  Auvergne  workmanship  by  its  side.  "  Now 
look  up  if  you  please." 

But  the  old  man's  face  was  if  possible  more 
lifeless  than  ever,  and,  without  lifting  his  gaze 
from  the  articles  on  the  table,  he  replied  :  "I 
can't  get  up  no  kind  of  an  expression  over  an 
empty  mug.  Nothing  comes  from  nothing,  m'sieu 
knows." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  replied  Orsovitch  good- 
naturedly.  "  Here,  Van,  if  you  have  nothing 
important  on  hand,  do  me  the  kindness  to  order  a 
bock  of  beer  for  Pere  Paquerette." 

"  Good  beer,  mind,"  added  the  old  model, 
"good,  strong  Strasbourg  beef.  Ah,  that  will 
do,  that  will  do,"  he  said,  smacking  his  lips,  and 
drawing  the  back  of  his  hand  across  them  to 
brush  away  the  froth  ;  "  and  now  for  the  expres- 
sion that  m'sieu  wants.  Fichtre !  that  is  not  so 
easy,  after  all.  It  is  not  this,  is  it  ?  Yes  ?  No  ? " 

"No,  it  is  not  that  at  all,  Pere  Paquerette," 
said  Orsovitch,  "  it  is  a  story-telling  expression 

22 


BOURBON  LILIES. 


that  I  want.  Suppose  that  instead  of  trying  so 
hard  to  give  it,  you  think  no  more  about  it,  but 
tell  us  a  story,  and  then  the  expression  will  come 
naturally." 

"  A  story,  eh  ?  "  echoed  the  old  man  ;  "  well, 
what  shall  it  be  about,  messieurs  ?  My  father's 
souvenirs  of  Napoleon  are  the  best  I  know,  but 
people  do  not  care  for  them  now  as  much  as  they 
did  when  I  was  young.  If  it  's  the  chateau  you 
want  to  hear  about,  I  can  tell  you  more  than  any 
one  else  in  the  village,  for  my  sister  was  there 
four  years  as  a  scholar." 

But  Orsovitch  was  hard  to  please,  and  did  not 
care  to  hear  anything  of  the  Chateau  de  Mont- 
morenci. 

"  Fichtre!"  said  Pere  Paquerette  again,  with 
more  force  than  elegance,  "  there  's  only  the 
Chateau  de  la  Chasse  left.  M'sieu  does  not  want 
to  hear  of  that,  does  he  ?  No  ?  Yes  ?  " 

"What  do  you  know  about  the  Chateau  de  la 
Chasse?" 

"  Not  much,  m'sieu,  for  I  have  only  been  there 
twice,  arranging  for  the  marriage  of  my  niece, 
Eulalie,  with  the  gamekeeper,  Ame'dee  du  Lac. 
I  was  so  occupied  with  the  business  that  I  quite 
forgot  to  look  about  the  place,  as  I  might  have 
done." 


ONE   RAINY  DAY. 


"So  it  was  you,  who  made  the  marriage  for 
your  niece  ?  " 

"Ah!  it  is  not  a  marriage  yet,  m'sieu,  and 
Amede^e  is  so  difficult  and  Eulalie  so  high  spir- 
ited (she  would  be  coquette,  but  that  she  knows  it 
would  cause  him  pain).  No,  it  is  not  a  marriage, 
only  a  betrothal;  but,  such  as  it  is,  I  made  it  —  I 
and  a  rabbit." 

"  I  'm  afraid  that  Strasbourg  beer  was  a  little 
too  strong,  Pere  Paquerette  ;  what  could  a  rabbit 
have  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Beg  pardon,  m'sieu,  but  if  a  grey  rabbit  with 
a  white  tail  had  not  scampered  across  the  road  to 
Montmorenci,  as  I  was  coming  home  one  after- 
noon, and  if  I  had  not  laid  down  the  screen  I 
was  bringing  home  for  M.  Dupinceau,  —  a  screen 
covered  with  red  velvet  and  gold,  —  if  I  had  not 
laid  it  down  on  a  stone  beside  a  chestnut  tree, 
and  started  on  a  run  after  that  rabbit,  Eulalie 
would  not  be  engaged  now  to  Amed^e." 

"  It  is  doubtless  just  as  you  say,"  replied  Orso- 
vitch,  "but  I  really  can't  understand  you;  sup- 
pose you  tell  us  about  it." 

"  It  was  a  long  race  the  rabbit  led  me,  —  and 
then  it  gained  its  hole  before  I  could  catch  it, 
for  I  am  not  so  spry  on  my  legs  as  I  was  in  my 
younger  days  ;  there  wasn't  a  rabbit  in  the  forest 


I72  BOURBON   LILILS. 

could  outrun  me,  when  I  wooed  Josephine  Haut- 
coeur.  You  would  not  think,  now,  I  had  then 
the  handsomest  legs  in  the  village,  would  you?" 
And  the  old  man,  quite  forgetting  he  was  posing, 
lifted  one  withered  limb,  and  eyed  it  ruefully. 
"  Well,  I  sat  down  by  the  rabbit  hole  and  waited 
till  I  thought  I  should  grow  cross-eyed,  what  with 
one  eye  for  the  rabbit,  and  one  for  the  guard, 
you  know. 

"  Pretty  affair  it  would  have  been,  if  Amedee 
had  caught  me  then ;  he  would  have  handed  me 
over  to  the  gendarme,  and  I  should  have  been 
put  in  prison,  all  for  a  miserable  little  beast  like 
that.  Ah  !  it 's  too  strong  for  me.  I  know  I 
shouldn't  chase  rabbits,  but  when  one  has  been 
a  poacher  in  his  youth,  instinct  never  dies ;  it  is 
like  the  sight  of  a  pretty  face  to  one  of  your 
artist  boys,  —  Piff-paff !  there  you  are  in  full 
chase  before  you  know  what  you  are  about.  I 
got  tired  waiting  for  the  rabbit  after  a  while,  and 
stretching  myself  out  on  a  bed  of  dry  leaves, 
where  I  could  put  my  hand  on  the  mouth  of  the 
hole,  and  where  the  great  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree  hid 
me  so  well  that  I  did  not  think  the  guard  coulc 
see  me,  I  lighted  my  pipe  and  went  to  sleep." 

"Haven't  we  had  almost  enough  of  that  rab- 
bit ? "  asked  Orsovitch. 


ONE   RAINY   DAY.  173 

"Oh  yes,"  replied  the  old  man;  "you  have 
heard  all  there  is  to  tell  about  him  now.  When 
I  woke  up  and  found  that  I  had  been  asleep,  I 
knew  that  there  was  no  use  staying  there  any 
longer,  for  the  rabbit  might  be  a  couple  of  leagues 
off,  laughing  at  me  for  letting  him  escape  so 
easily.  So  I  shook  the  ashes  out  of  my  pipe, 
and  went  back  to  the  road,  where  I  found  that 
some  little  gamins,  who  had  been  chestnutting, 
had  hidden  the  screen,  and  I  had  all  the  trouble  of 
the  evil  one  to  find  it.  At  last  I  saw  one  end 
of  it  sticking  out  from  a  pile  of  dry  leaves  (it 
was  late  in  the  fall,  and  they  were  lying  in 
great  warm  drifts  everywhere) ;  I  carried  it  off  as 
fast  as  I  could  to  M.  Dupinceau,  who  scolded  me 
well  for  having  been  so  long  about  it." 

"I  do  not  see  anything  very  remarkable  in 
your  story,"  said  Orsovitch  ;  "  nor  anything  about 
your  niece's  engagement.  I  fear  that  rabbit  has 
led  you  astray  from  the  subject." 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Pere  Paquerette,  pettishly; 
"  but  when  I  tell  a  story,  I  tell  all  the  story.  I  Ve 
just  got  to  the  interesting  part  now.  You  don't 
want  to  hear  any  more  ?  Yes  ?  No  ?  When  I 
reached  home,  there  was  a  great  commotion  in 
the  village;  people  were  running  hither  and 
thither,  and  the  town  crier  was  drumming  as 


1/4  BOURBON  LILIES. 

hard  as  he  could  to  call  them  together.  A  laborer, 
who  had  forgotten  to  lay  down  his  pitchfork, 
rushed  into  the  church  where  the  cure  was  saying 
mass,  and,  without  so  much  as  taking  his  hat  off, 
began  to  ring  the  bell  like  mad.  Arizoli,  who 
keeps  the  hardware  store,  gave  all  the  peasants 
in  the  street  a  new  spade,  and,  marshaling  his 
battalion,  set  out  with  them  at  a  brisk  trot.  The 
gendarmes  came  running  up  the  street,  and  the 
firemen  after  them,  buckling  their  helmets  as 
they  ran.  Monsieur  le  Cure  left  saying  his  mass, 
and  ran  out  in  front  of  the  church  in  his  robes. 
All  the  women  dropped  their  work  and  ran  to 
the  square  with  the  children  holding  to  their 
dresses  or  in  their  arms,  shrieking  at  the  top  of 
their  voices,  waving  their  arms,  and  pointing  to 
the  sky  all  black  with  smoke.  '  What  is  the  mat- 
ter ? '  shouted  I  to  Eulalie,  who  stood  in  her  door, 
looking  wild  with  fright.  '  Is  it  the  Prussians 
again  ? ' 

"  '  Imbecile ! '  yelled  her  aunt ; 'the  forest  is  on 
fire ;  it  will  never  finish,  the  wood  is  as  dry  as 
tinder.' 

"  My  first  thought  was,  glad  I  had  got  out  of  it 
before  the  fire  commenced.  You  see  it  was  the 
fire  from  my  pipe  that  lighted  it,  though  I  did  not 
think  of  it  then,  it  all  came  to  me  afterward. 


ONE   RAINY   DAY. 


Soon  it  grew  dark  and  we  could  see  flame  reflec- 
tions in  the  sky,  the  castle  standing  out  in  front, 
black  and  flat  as  though  cut  out  of  cloth,  with 
every  little  point  and  pinnacle,  and  hung  up 
against  it.  FicJitre  !  but  it  was  fine.  I  heard 
more  than  one  of  the  artists  say  so,  and  stamp 
the  ground  for  very  rage  because  they  could 
not  paint  like  that.  Later,  the  boys  who  had 
gone  to  fight  the  fire  came  slowly  back,  each 
black  as  a  charcoal  burner,  and  some  with  faces 
and  hands  badly  burned.  They  were  not  able  to 
do  much,  they  said,  for  there  was  a  high  wind, 
the  flames  were  well  under  way,  and  there  had 
been  no  rain  for  weeks.  There  was  reason  to 
fear  that  more  than  one  person  had  been  burned 
alive  ;  for  a  family  lived  near  the  edge  of  the 
forest,  and  their  home  had  been  found  burned  to 
the  ground  ;  the  woman,  too,  was  known  to  be 
bedridden.  She  was  a  widow  with  a  tribe  of  wild 
boys,  the  very  ones  who  had  hidden  my  screen. 
I  had  wished  them  all  kinds  of  ill  luck,  but  I  was 
sorry  enough  when  I  heard  they  were  burned  to 
death. 

"  The  fire  burned  down  during  the  night,  and 
the  next  day  the  boys  tried  to  get  to  the  Chateau 
de  la  Chasse,  but  there  were  so  many  burning 
logs  lying  across  the  way,  and  the  ground  was 


176  BOURBON   LILIES. 

so  hot  to  their  feet,  that  they  had  to  give  it 
up  until  night.  Then  they  found  the  woman 
and  her  children  all  safe  with  Amedee  in  the 
chateau.  Shortly  after  the  fire  broke  out  he 
had  passed  by  their  cottage,  and  helped  the 
oldest  boys  carry  their  mother  out  on  an  old 
sofa.  The  woods  on  both  sides  of  the  road 
were  on  fire,  and  it  was  impossible  to  go  toward 
either  Montmorenci  or  Ecouen,  so  they  carried 
her  back  to  the  Chateau  de  la  Chasse,  the  fire, 
leaping  from  tree  to  tree,  catching  up  with  them 
when  they  were  almost  there,  reaching  out  hot 
hands  for  them,  and  nearly  stifling  them  with 
smoke,  Amedee' s  clothes  caught  fire  twice,  and 
his  hair  was  singed,  but  he  got  them  all  in  at  last 
where  they  were  safe,  for  the  chateau  stands 
between  two  little  lakes.  It  must  have  been  a 
terrible  sight  through  all  that  night  to  see  the 
fires  around  them,  and  they  shut  in  alone  by 
the  Lord  God  with  walls  of  water  and  fire.  It 
would  have  given  a  man  something  to  think 
about.  I  wonder  how  Amedee  could  have  car- 
ried that  womai~i  so  far — she  was  a  fat  woman 
and  had  the  dropsy ;  she  must  have  weighed  a 
sight,  without  counting  the  sofa.  It 's  a  strong 
fellow,  that  Amedee,  for  all  he  is  so  little , 
when  a  stroke  of  temper  takes  him  he  is  a 


ONE   RAINY   DAY. 


little  Hercules.  He  was  mad  enough  when  the 
village  boys  got  to  the  chateau,  and  said  the 
woods  must  have  been  set  on  fire,  and  he 
would  find  out  who  had  done  it,  and  have  the 
vagabond  punished  to  the  full  extent  of  the 
law,  The  little  boys  said  that  an  old  man 
carrying  a  screen  had  been  loafing  about  the 
woods  just  before  the  fire  took,  and  Amedee 
meant  to  hunt  him  up,  for  he  had  no  doubt 
he  was  the  incendiary.  When  the  village  boys 
said  that,  the  cold  sweat  started  out  all  over 
me,  and  I  felt  already  condemned  to  be  hanged 
'  Now,  the  question  is/  said  the  boys,  '  who  can 
this  man  be  ?  '  '  Yes,'  said  I,  while  my  knees 
shook,  and  my  voice  trembled  with  fear.  '  Who 
is  it?'  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  as  though  they 
were  so  many  accusing  spirits,  I  heard  above 
me  legion  of  voices,  crying,  '  Toi  !  toi  !  !  TOI  !  !  !  ' 
I  looked  up  more  dead  than  alive  ;  it  was  only 
the  crows  that  had  been  driven  away  by  the 
fire,  flying  back  to  their  charred  and  blackened 
homes.  I  went  into  the  house  and  told  Eulalie 
about  it.  '  The  gendarme  will  have  his  hand  on 
my  collar  soon,'  said  I,  '  and  there  I  am  in  prison 
and  executed,  all  for  an  unhappy  little  rabbit 
that  I  did  not  catch.'  Eulalie  looked  very  grave. 
'  You  will  be  sure  to  be  found  out,  uncle,'  said 
23 


BUUKBUN   LILIES. 


she,  '  the  town  is  full  of  people  that  would  be 
only  too  happy  to  inform  upon  you.  The  only 
way  is  to  get  ahead  of  them.  I  will  go  down  to 
the  chateau,  and  speak  for  you.  I  don't  believe 
the  garde  chasse  can  be  a  very  hard-hearted  man, 
his  mother  is  so  good.'  And  that  was  how  I  got 
off,  for,  on  the  contrary,  Amede'e  is  a  very  soft- 
hearted man,  but  very  shy  ;  he  never  would  have 
found  Eulalie  in  the  world,  but  she  found  him, 
and  he  surrendered.  When  Eulalie  came  back, 
her  eyes  were  wet,  as  though  she  had  been 
crying,  but  she  was  smiling  at  the  same  time. 
'  He  says  for  you  to  come  and  see  him,'  said  she. 
'  Fichtre,'  said  I,  'that  is  just  what  I  don't  want 
to  do.'  '  Don't  be  afraid,'  says  Eulalie,  'he's  not 
half  so  ugly  as  he  looks.'  "  Pere  Paquerette  paused 
in  his  recital  from  sheer  weariness. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Orsovitch,"  said  Van,  in 
English,  "  on  the  clever  way  in  which  you  have 
drawn  his  story  out  of  him.  No  one  would  have 
guessed  this  was  just  what  you  wanted." 

"  And  what  is  better,"  replied  the  other,  "  the 
old  gentleman  will  not  think  I  am  in  love  with 
Eulalie  ;  "  and,  turning  to  Pere  Paquerette,  he 
said,  "  So  Amedee  proposed  for  your  niece  as 
soon  as  he  saw  you  ?  " 

"  Beg  pardon,  m'sieu,  he  did  not,  but  we  had 


ONE  RAINY   DAY. 


not  been  talking  together  five  minutes,  before  I 
saw  that  it  was  a  true  affair  of  the  heart." 

"What  did  he  say  then,  if  he  did  not  go 
straight  to  the  matter?  I  should  like  to  know 
the  symptoms  by  which  an  affection  of  that  kind 
manifests  itself." 

"Well,  m'sieu,  he  talked  to  me  very  much  as 
you  have  done  this  morning.  There  was  no 
question  of  a  dowry,  any  more  than  there  was  of 
my  setting  the  woods  on  fire.  You  would  have 
thought  the  one  was  as  far  from  his  thoughts  as 
the  other,  and  I  suppose  it  was.  He  was  mighty 
careful  not  to  pop  out,  and  say  he  wanted  to 
marry  Eulalie,  but  he  asked  me  whether  she 
was  betrothed,  whether  she  had  ever  had  a  lover, 
whether  she  had  ever  loved  any  one,  whether  she 
was  very  fond  of  society,  and  a  hundred  ques- 
tions, just  as  you  did.  I  talked  away,  letting 
him  know  all  he  wanted,  and  trying  not  to  let 
him  know  that  I  saw  through  it  all.  When  he 
had  finished,  I  simply  said,  '  There  won't  be  any 
trouble,  will  there,  m'sieu,  about  a  poor  fellow 
happening  to  pass  along  the  road  with  a  screen  a 
little  before  the  fire?  His  niece  may  be  married 
before  long,  and  it  would  break  the  old  man's 
heart  not  to  be  at  the  wedding  on  account  of 
being  in  prison  at  the  time.'  Then  Amedde 


180  BOURBON  LILIES. 

slapped  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  told  me  to  go 
along  for  an  old  joker,  but  we  understood  each 
other,  and  he  brought  up  a  bottle  of  capital  old 
wine  from  the  dungeon  down  under  the  lake, 
and  we  drank  to  the  betrothal.  The  next  day 
Mere  Angelique  came  to  see  us,  and  demanded 
Eulalie  in  her  son's  name  in  the  presence  of  all 
the  family." 

Orsovitch  bit  his  lips  witlj  vexation.  "  You 
are  a  very  knowing  old  man,  Pere  Paquerette," 
said  he,  "but  sometimes  people  may  be  too 
knowing.  So  you  suppose  I  am  as  much  in  love 
with  your  niece  as  Amed6e  ? " 

"  I  don't  suppose  anything,  m'sieu." 

"Because,  if  you  do,  you  are  very  much  mis- 
taken. I  would  have  my  hands  full,  indeed,  if  I 
allowed  myself  to  fall  in  love  with  every  pretty 
girl  that  posed  for  me." 

"  M'sieu  is  quite  right ;  besides,  m'sieu  and 
Eulalie  are  of  very  different  stations  in  life. 
The  poppies  and  the  wheat  look  very  fine 
growing  together,  and  they  seem  to  take  kindly 
enough  to  each  other's  society,  I  must  allow,  for  I 
have  loved  out  of  my  station  in  my  time,  too ; 
but  that  does  not  signify,  —  they  are  not  the 
same  kind  of  weed  after  all." 

"  No  "  said  Orsovitch,  musingly  ;  "  the  noble 


ONE  RAINY  DAY.  l8l 

wheat  is  too  stiff  and  harsh,  all  bristling  with 
sharp  points  of  custom  and  prejudice,  to  make  a 
comfortable  place  in  its  ranks  for  such  a  tender 
and  sweet  little  field-flower  as  Eulalie." 

"  Turn  that  around,  m'sieu,  turn  that  around,  if 
you  please,"  said  the  old  man,  flourishing  his 
hand. 

Orsovitch  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "  What  ? 
My  picture  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  have  not  done  any- 
thing on  it  yet." 

"  No,  no,  m'sieu,  your  sermon.  It 's  we  peas- 
ants that  are  the  wheat,  made  to  be  ground 
to  powder,  and  eaten  by  the  rich.  Of  what  use 
to  Eulalie  would  be  a  fine  husband  like  a  gay 
flaunting  poppy  of  the  field,  such  as  M'sieu  le 
Cure  says  '  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin,'  but 
array  themselves  in  all  the  glory  of  Solomon  ? 
Ah  !  the  poor  girl  has  to  work  hard  enough 
now,  without  having  a  husband  of  that  kind  to 
support.  I  don't  hold  much  to  marriage,  any 
way ;  it 's  generally  a  bad  thing,  and  makes 
trouble  —  especially  marriage  with  love  in  it. 
When  this  matter  was  first  started,  I  thought 
it  \\6uld  be  a  good  thing  to  make  a  double 
wedding  of  it.  There's  the  Mere  Angelique,  a 
respectable  widow,  not  too  old,  with  a  snug 
little  house,  where  she  must  feel  a  trifle  lonely 


1 82  BOURBON   LILIES. 

sometimes,  and  a  garden  to  take  care  of,-  and 
a  poultry  yard ;  she  may  well  feel  the  need  of 
a  strong  man  like  me  to  help  her  gather  the 
fruit,  make  the  cider,  and  drink  it.  I  talked 
over  the  affair  with  Amedee,  but  he  soon  per- 
suaded me  that  it  would  not  do  at  all.  For, 
in  the  first  place,  our  political  opinions  differ; 
our  family  have  always  been  Bonapartists,  while 
the  Mere  Angelique  is  a  legitimist,  and  holds 
to  the  Bourbon  Lilies.  I  should  not  wonder  if 
she  really  expected  to  see  the  Comte  de  Cham- 
bord  reigning  as  Henry  V.  one  of  these  days.. 
Then  we  should  be  always  quarreling  over  relig- 
ion, for  I  am  a  good  Catholic,  the  saints  be  praised, 
while  she  is  little  better  than  a  Liberal." 

"There,"  interrupted  Orsovitch,  "the  sun  is 
shining;  it  is  no  longer  the  right  kind  of  light 
for  this  picture.  You  may  go  now,  but  come 
again  the  next  rainy  day." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

GAUDEAMUS. 

"  Dulciora  melle ; 
Rixae,  pax,  et  oscula  rubentis  puellae." 

A  NEW  color  had  come  to  the  cheeks  of  Fanny 
Fitz  Flirt  and  a  new  sparkle  to  her  eyes.  Hard 
work  had  brought  it  there,  unremitting  and  unac- 
customed work,  but  work  which  had  for  its  spring 
a  fresh  enthusiasm.  Country  living  anSythe  ab- 
sence of  Parisian  dissipation  had  their  good  effect 
upon  her  health,  and  invigorated  health  brought 
with  it  Fanny's  fresh  flow  of  spirits.  Monsieur 
Robusti  had  this  summer  a  class  of  girls,  of 
whom  four  or  five  were  Americans  and  English. 
Fanny  became  a  favorite  with  them  all ;  and, 
though  perhaps  the  least  advanced  in  art,  was  the 
light  of  the  studio.  Her  merry,  mad-cap  ways 
were  the  gay  stones  in  the  mosaic  of  the  day,  for 
her  teacher  as  well  as  fellow-students.  Precosia 
Pry  worked  here  too,  and  continual  sharp-shoot- 
ing was  carried  on  between  the  two  girls,  Pre- 

(183) 


184  BOURBON  LILIES. 

cosia  holding  up  Fanny's  frightful  daubs  to  the 
withering  blaze  of  her  irony,  and  Fanny  replying 
with  shots  of  witticism  and  sarcasm  that  were 
always  keenly  relished  by  the  class,  with  whom 
Precosia  was  no  favorite. 

In  the  midst  of  this  pleasant  round  of  occu^  a- 
tion  came  Mamma  Robusti's  party  and  again  Orso- 
vitch  crossed  her  path.  It  was  provoking,  it  was 
too  bad,  she  told  herself  rather  bitterly,  that  this 
high-bred,  fascinating,  but  tantalizingly  indiffer- 
ent man  should  appear  in  this  way  whenever  she 
was  enjoying  herself  thoroughly,  for  the  express 
purpose,  it  would  seem,  of  spoiling  her  peace  of 
mind.  She  had  no  doubt  that  she  could  thaw 
even  this  Russian  iceberg,  if  he  would  only  sub- 
mit himself  long  enough  to  the  sunlight  of  her 
presence.  How  delightful  it  would  be  to  under- 
mine his  serene  self-satisfaction,  and,  when  she 
had  transformed  this  marble  statue  into  a  lover, 
quietly  let  him  fall  out  of  her  life  again.  The 
thought  was  such  an  attractive  one  that  she 
became  absorbed  once  more,  and  the  girls  noticed 
for  several  days  after  the  party  that  Fanny  was 
abstracted,  and  even  a  little  pale. 

If  Fanny  despaired  of  ever  being  able  to  sub- 
mit Orsovitch  to  the  ordeal  which  she  had  in 
thought  planned  for  him,  Mrs.  Poser  had  not 


GAUDEAMUS.  185 


come  to  Vilier  le  Bel  simply  to  meet  him  at  an 
evening  entertainment,  and  then  give  up  all  for 
lost 

"Come,  my  dear,  put  on  that  walking-suit  I 
like  so  much,"  she  said  to  Fanny  one  afternoon, 
"and  come  with  me.  I  have  determined  to 
improve  the  time  while  we  are  staying  among  all 
these  artists  by  having  your  portrait  painted." 

Fanny  obeyed  her  sister  without  asking  the 
name  of  the  artist  she  had  chosen,  and  followed 
her  unsuspectingly  into  the  studio  occupied  by 
Van  and  Orsovitch.  To  Mrs.  Poser's  proposal, 
Orsovitch  replied  that  he  was  not  a  portrait 
painter,  and  although  the  insinuating  little  lady 
pleaded  for  a  full  half-hour,  he  was  inexorable. 

"  If  you  are  so  anxious  to  obtain  a  portrait  of 
your  sister,"  he  said  at  last,  "  here  is  my  friend, 
who  is  much  more  clever  than  I  at  catching  a 
likeness.  I  assure  you  that  if  you  put  the  matter 
in  his  hands  you  will  be  much  better  satisfied  than 
if  I  had  undertaken  it." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,"  expostulated  Van,  "  I 
never  painted  a  portrait  in  my  life,  or  sold  a 
picture ;  I  am  only  an  art-student,  not  an  artist." 

"  Listen  to  the  frankness  of  the  guileless 
youth ! "  exclaimed  Orsovitch ;  and  then  he 
praised  his  friend  so  highly,  bringing  forward 

24 


1 80  BOURBON   LILIES. 

his  studies  of  peasant  heads,  which  the  ladies 
recognized  immediately,  that  Mrs.  Poser,  reflect- 
ing that  the  painting  would  at  least  be  done  under 
the  immediate  supervision  of  Orsovitch,  and  that 
it  was  too  good  an  opportunity  to  be  lost,  at  once 
transferred  to  him  the  request  she  had  made  to 
Orsovitch. 

"  But,  Orsovitch,"  said  Van,  "  I  happen  to 
know  that  you  have  engaged  a  model  for  the  next 
few  days,  and  as  we  use  the  same  studio,  I  fear 
this  will  interrupt  your  work." 

"  I  am  quite  willing  to  let  that  picture  dry  for 
a  week,"  said  Orsovitch ;  and  after  the  ladies 
had  gone  he  added,  "  Having  Eulalie  here  is  too 
much  of  a  pleasure  to  have  it  quickly  over  with. 
I  want  to  put  off  the  evil  day  of  parting  with  her 
as  long  as  I  can,  and  she  tells  me  that  she  cannot 
reconcile  it  with  her  conscience  to  pose  for  me 
after  the  picture  I  am  at  work  on  now  is  finished. 
Then  this  is  too  good  a  chance  for  you  to  lose. 
These  ladies  are  wealthy  enough  to  pay  you  a 
good  price,  your  painting  for  them  will  introduce 
you  among  their  set,  and  probably  bring  you 
many  more  orders.  I  foresee,  my  boy,  that  it  is 
the  first  round  in  the  ladder  of  fame  for  you." 

"  A  round  I  should  never  have  gained  without 
a  friendly  boost  from  you,  old  fellow,"  said  Van. 


GAUDEAMUS. 


Fanny  sat  for  her  portrait  in  full  evening 
dress,  and  Orsovitch  soon  became  as  much  inter- 
ested as  Van  in  its  progress  ;  he  suggested,  criti- 
cised, directed ;  and  sometimes  even  took  the 
palette  and  brushes  from  his  friend's  hand  and 
gave  a  few  touches  to  the  picture,  regarding 
Fanny  with  the  quizzical  eye  of  a  connoisseur 
tasting  a  new  kind  of  wine,  the  classification  of 
which  baffles  him. 

At  such  times  Fanny's  cheek  burned  deeper, 
and  the  little  heart  beneath  the  flowery  bodice 
fluttered  with  a  consciousness  of  his  admiration. 
Her  dainty  coquetry  was  not  unnoticed  by  Orso- 
vitch, and  it  interested  him  quite  as  much  as 
Eulalie's  perfect  unconsciousness  had  done.  With 
Van,  Fanny's  manner  was  quite  different.  She 
established  with  him  at  once  a  frank  comrade- 
ship, like  that  existing  between  boy  and  boy,  or 
between  brother  and  sister  of  sympathetic  tastes. 
Mrs.  Poser  noticed  it,  and  was  relieved ;  Fanny 
regarded  Van  as  a  brother,  there  was  no  danger 
in  that  direction  for  even  her  versatile  affections ; 
but  all  this  puzzled  Orsovitch. 

"  You  Americans  are  a  mystery  to  me,"  said  he 
to  Van ;  "  she  likes  you,  and  she  does  not  disguise 
it ;  she  is  astonishingly  free  with  you,  and  yet  she 
is  unmistakably  comme  il  faut.  She  has  seen  as 


1 88  BOURBON  LILIES. 

much  of  society  as  a  married  woman,  and  yet  she 
is  naive  as  a  baby — she's  a  sphinx." 

So  the  week  went  by.  During  her  sittings 
Fanny  talked  quite  as  much  as  Eulalie  had  done, 
talked  as  an  intelligent  and  sprightly  American 
girl  can,  and  her  witty  repartee  had  a  charm  for 
Orsovitch  as  new  and  bewitching  as  her  face  and 
manner.  At  the  close  of  the  week  Orsovitch 
suggested  that  the  portrait,  which  was  almost 
completed,  should  be  laid  aside  for  a  while,  Van 
or  himself  to  inform  the  ladies  when  it  would  be 
best  to  resume  the  sittings. 

The  day  after,  Orsovitch  called  to  reengage 
Eulalie,  but  she  had  gone  to  Paris  for  a  couple  of 
days,  and  the  young  man  found  himself  with 
unoccupied  time  upon  his  hands.  He  spent  the 
first  day  in  putting  things  to  rights  in  his  studio, 
and  in  answering  neglected  letters ;  on  the  second 
he  started  off  on  a  long  ramble.  He  returned  to 
find  Van  plunged  in  a  brown  study. 

"What  is  the  matter,"  he  asked,  giving  his 
friend  a  cheery  slap  upon  the  shoulder. 

"Read  that,"  replied  Van,  handing  Orsovitch  a 
delicately-scented  and  showily-monogramed  note 
bearing  Mrs.  Poser's  fine  handwriting.  The 
note  ran :  — 


GAUDEAMUS.  189 


"  DEAR  MR.  VAN  :  Fanny  and  I  have  denied  ourselves  every 
kind  of  amusement  for  so  long,  that  we  feel  it  is  time  virtue  had 
its  reward.  We  have  accordingly  decided  to  attend  the  theatre 
in  Paris  this  evening,  returning  by  the  midnight  train.  Unfor- 
tunately, I  have  only  ascertained  since  purchasing  our  tickets 
that  the  omnibus  for  Vilier  le  Bel  does  not  meet  this  train.  Of 
course,  it  is  out  of  the  question  for  us  to  walk  from  the  station 
aver  to  the  village  at  that  time  of  night,  and  I  have  decided  to 
throw  myself  upon  your  friendship,  requesting  you,  if  it  does  not 
put  you  to  too  much  inconvenience,  to  meet  us  at  the  station 
with  a  carriage,  allowing  me,  of  course,  the  privilege  of  paying 
for  the  vehicle. 

"  With  regards  from  Fanny  to  yourself  and  Monsieur  Orso- 
vitch,  in  which  I  join  most  cordially,  — 

"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

"  LILIAN  F.  F.  POSER." 

Orsovitch  gave  a  long  whistle.  "  I  see  that  I 
shall  lose  my  comrade  soon,"  he  said ;  "  the  young 
lady  is  charming,  and  I  wish  you  joy." 

"  Oh !  she  's  not  fishing  for  me,"  laughed  Van, 
"  I  'm  too  small  fry ;  you  would  see  how  quickly 
I  'd  get  my  walking-ticket  if  I  aspired  to  Miss 
Fanny's  hand." 

"  Well,  I  repeat  for  the  thousandth  time  that  I 
do  not  at  all  understand  the  American  way  of 
doing  things ;  but  if  this  note  means  no  more 
than  it  says,  why  that  afflicted  countenance  ? " 

"  Simply  because  there  is,  as  you  know,  no 
livery  stable  at  either  Vilier  le  Bel  or  Ecouen, 
and  I  know  of  no  vehicle  which  I  could  hire  for 
the  ladies,  with  the  exception  of  the  charcoal 
vender's  cart." 


19°  BOURBON  LILIES. 

"  Dupinceau  would  lend  me  his  open  carriage 
and  span,  if  I  asked  him,"  said  Orsovitch. 

"Then  do  ask  him  and  get  me  out  of  the 
scrape,  there 's  a  good  fellow,"  entreated  Van. 

"  But  if  I  borrowed  them  I  should  feel  it  my 
duty  to  drive  them ;  I  could  never  trust  a  hair- 
brained  young  fellow  like  you,  with  a  couple  of 
giddy  Americans  on  your  hands,  with  a  span  of 
racers  like  Dupinceau' s.  And  since  the  ladies 
have  not  invited  me,  I  feel  a  delicacy  about 
intruding  my  company." 

"  Hang  your  delicacy,"  exclaimed  Van,  "  they'll 
be  delighted ;  they'd  have  asked  you  in  the  first 
place  instead  of  me,  but  they  knew  you  wouldn  't 
understand  them." 

At  the  station,  Orsovitch  remained  upon  the 
driver's  seat,  holding  in  the  restive  animals,  while 
Van  met  'the  ladies  and  escorted  them  to  the 
carriage.  Mrs.  Poser  took  a  seat  in  the  interior, 
but  Fanny,  instead  of  following  her,  sprang  up 
beside  Orsovitch  and  begged  him  to  give  her  the 
reins.  "  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  realize  how 
spirited  these  horses  are,"  remonstrated  Orso- 
vitch. 

"  Oh  !  yes  I  do,"  replied  Fanny,  "  and  they  are 
not  nearly  so  lively  as  the  four-in-hand  I  drove 
in  Saratoga,  the  summer  before  we  left  America 


GAUDEAMUS. 


You  should  have  seen  them,  Monsieur  Orsovitch ; 
such  beauties  !  Papa  gave  me  a  set  of  silver- 
mounted  harness  for  them  on  my  eighteenth 
birthday:  he  called  it  putting  the  reins  in  my 
own  hands.  I  drove  them. afterward  at  Newport 
and  at  Jerome  Park. 

"When  Lil  and  I  went  to  the  Derby,  Lord 
Dashmore  let  me  drive  his  coach ;  uglier  beasts 
never  were,  but  I  kept  them  well  in  hand.  Lil 
is  always  afraid  of  breaking  her  precious  neck, 
but  I  Ve  no  doubt  she  'd  feel  easier  with  me 
driving  than  you." 

"  It  shall  be  as  Mrs.  Poser  decides,"  said  Or- 
sovitch. 

"  If  Monsieur  Orsovitch  will  sit  where  he  can 
take  the  reins,  in  case  of  danger,  I  shall  be 
most  willing,"  replied  the  little  lady,  inwardly 
trembling,  but  fancying  that  she  saw  an  advan- 
tage for  Fanny  in  the  situation.  Away  swept 
the  horses  on  the  level  road,  which  lay  in  the 
moonlight,  like  a  white  ribbon,  on  the  broad 
unfenced  meadows  between  the  station  and  Vilier 
le  Bel.  Orsovitch  soon  lost  his  anxiety  in  admi- 
ration of  the  horsemanlike  way  in  which  Fanny 
managed  her  steeds,  and  proposed,  if  the  ladies 
were  not  too  tired,  that  they  should  continue 
their  drive  a  little  further,  returning  to  Vilier  le 


I92  BOURBON  LILIES. 

Bel  whenever  they  pleased.  When  the  horses 
gained  the  imperial  highway,  leading  from  Paris 
northward  through  St.  Denis,  Ecouen,  and  other 
villages,  they  settled  down  to  a  fine  trotting  pace. 
Fanny's  spirits  rose,  her  eyes  shone  with  excite- 
ment, and  she  began  a  gay  college  song.  Van's 
clear  tenor  joined  her  from  the  interior  of  the 
carriage,  and  "  We  won't  go  home  till  morning," 
"  Shool  i  rool,"  "  Landlord  fill  the  flowing  bowl," 
and  other  rollicking  college  glees  were  echoed 
back  by  the  quaint  old  walls  and  roofs  of  Ecouen. 
As  they  passed  the  hotel,  Pauline  Pry's  night- 
capped  face  was  distinctly  seen,  peering  from 
between  her  shutters,  in  the  vain  attempt  to 
discover  the  authors  of  this  unaccustomed  hi- 
larity. Another  pair  of  eyes  were  more  successful, 
for  La  Gazette,  who  wandered  about  at  all  sorts 
of  uncanny  hours,  stood  with  her  cruche,  or 
earthen  water-pitcher,  beside  the  town  pump  as 
the  gay  party  swept  by,  and  recognized  the 
occupants  of  the  driver's  seat. 

They  did  not  notice  her,  for  now  Fanny  and 
Van  were  doing  justice,  as  far  as  two  voices  can, 
to  "Gaudeamus,"  and,  after  that,  to  "Lauriger 
Horatius."  Orsovitch  understood  the  words,  if 
Fanny  did  not,  and  when  with  an  arch  glance 
at  him  she  caroled  gayly  of  "oscula  rubentis 
puellae,"  he  almost  forgot  himself  and  the  com- 


GAUDEAMUS.  193 


pany  he  was  in.  His  eyes  gave  the  kiss  which 
his  lips  dared  not  give,  and  Fanny's  heart  swelled 
with  triumph. 

When  they  were  all  a  little  tired  of  singing, 
and  as  they  drove  swiftly  homeward,.  Orsovitch 
asked  Fanny  if  she  had  ever  read  a  description 
of  a  ride  in  Swinburne. 

"  I  have  never  read  Swinburne  at  all,"  replied 
Fanny.  "  Is  he  nice  ? " 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Orsovitch.  "  He  is 
not  at  all  nice,  but  you  Americans  do  not  seem 
to  have  the  same  ideas  about  matters  and  things 
that  we  Europeans  have,  and  I  did  not  know  but 
you  were  familiar  with  the  author.  The  quotation 
that  I  spoke  of,  however,  was  so  good  that  I 
think  it  has  remained  in  my  memory,  and  I  will 
repeat  it  to  you,  if  you  wish. 

* '  Let  us  take  to  us,  now  that  the  white  skies  thrill  with  a 

moon  unarisen, 
Swift  horses  of  fear  or  of  love,  take  flight,  and  depart,  and 

hot  die. 
They  are  swifter  than  dreams,  they  are  stronger  than  death, 

there  is  none  that  hath  ridden, 
None  that  shall  ride  in  the  dim  strange  ways  of  his  life  as 

we  ride. 
By  the  meadows  of  memory,  the  highlands  of  hope  —  by  the 

salt-pools,  bitter  and  sterile, 
Our   wild   steeds   press   on  the   night,   strain  hard  through 

pleasure  and  peril, 
Labor,  and  listen  and  pant  not,  or  pause  for  the  peril  that  nears  j 


194  BOURBON  LILIES. 

And  the  sound  of  them,  trampling  the  way,  cleaves  night,  as 

an  arrow,  asunder. 
And  slow  up  the  sand-hills,  and  swift  by  the  down,  with  its 

glimpses  of  grass, 
Sudden  and  steady  the   music,  as  eight   hoofs  trample  and 

thunder, 
Shrill  shrieks  in  our  faces  the  blind  bland  air  that  was  mutt 

as  a  maiden, 
Stung  into  storm  by  the  speed  of  our  passage,  and  deaf  when 

we  past 
And  our  spirits,  too,  burn  as  we  bound,  —  thine  holy,  but 

mine  heavy  laden, — 
As  we  burn  with  the  fire  of  our  flight    Oh!  love,  shall  we 

win  at  the  last?'" 

The  monotonous  music  of  eight  hoofs,  with 
the  measured  accompaniment  of  the  poem,  had 
been  too  much  for  Mrs.  Poser,  and  she  was 
sleeping  peacefully.  Van  only  looked  up,  with 
a  swift,  questioning  gaze,  into  his  friend's  face 
as  he  repeated  the  last  words.  Apparently 
nothing  personal  was  intended,  for  the  next 
moment  he  had  alighted  before  the  ladies'  door, 
and,  holding  the  horses,  requested  Van  to  assist 
Miss  Fanny  from  her  elevated  seat 


CHAPTER  XV. 

BRIG   A   BRAG. 

Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 
And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood. 

TENNY5ON. 

A  GAIN  Eulalie  came  and  posed  for  the 
friends,  and  another  day  was  passed  in 
pleasant  familiar  chat,  not  altogether  as  some  of 
the  preceding  had  been,  for  Orsovitch  was  in 
one  of  his  peculiar  moods  —  by  turns  disputa- 
tious and  querulous,  and  by  turns  extravagantly 
enthusiastic.  Still  it  was  a  day  to  be  remembered, 
and  one  which  afforded  all  three  much  enjoyment. 
The  studio  which  the  young  men  occupied  has 
not  hitherto  been  described,  and  as  its  furnishing 
suggested  the  conversation  of  the  day,  it  may  be 
well  to  introduce  you  to  it  here. 

The  house  belonged  to  a  wealthy  amateur 
artist,  then  traveling  in  the  Orient,  and  Van  had 
rented  it  with  the  furniture.  Orsovitch  and  he 
used  only  the  studio  and  two  small  bedrooms 


BOURBON  LILIES. 


situated  in  a  side  wing,  the  main  part  of  the 
house  remaining  uninhabited.  The  owner  of  the 
studio  seemed  to  have  been  more  of  an  anti- 
quary than  an  artist,  and  the  apartment  was 
filled  with  curiosities  from  every  nationality.  An 
ancient  tapestry  from  the  looms  of  Ghent  was 
stretched  across  one  wall,  the  faded  figures 
looming  dimly  and  ghost-like  through  the  mist 
of  years.  Persian  rugs  lay  upon  the  floor.  Two 
arm-chairs,  covered  with  Utrecht  velvet  embroi- 
dered with  the  Christian  initials,  had  come  from 
some  old  Episcopal  palace.  There  was  one  chair 
of  slender  gilded  wood-work,  very  graceful  and 
delicate,  covered  with  rich  yellow  satin,  and  this 
again  with  exquisite  point  de  Venise,  the  work 
of  some  Italian  lady  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
Another,  of  a  century  earlier,  of  richly  tinted 
carved  wood,  with  twisted  legs,  ending  in  claws, 
and  surmounted  by  the  head  of  a  lion,  covered 
with  leather  which  still  bore  the  faint  traces  of  a 
gilded  escutcheon,  was  of  Flemish  workmanship. 
The  centre  of  the  room  was  occupied  by  a  carved 
ebony  table,  inlaid  with  ivory  and  plates  of  silver, 
while  across  it,  in  lieu  of  a  table-cloth,  was  thrown 
a  brilliantly  striped  Spanish  cloak.  Various  cab- 
inets were  ranged  along  the  wall  ;  one,  apparently 
of  East  Indian  workmanship,  represented  a 


ERIC  A  BRAC.  1 97 


temple,  with  columns  of  jaspqr  and  lapis  lazuli ; 
the  back  and  the  sides  were  of  looking-glass, 
cleverly  arranged  at  angles  to  carry  back  the 
miniature  hall  in  a  long  series  of  reflected  gal- 
leries. On  the  shelves  of  this  cabinet  lay  a 
collection  of  ancient  cameos.  Above,  upon  a 
marble  bracket,  stood  a  Renaissance  clock,  sup- 
ported on  one  side  by  a  plate  of  eels  in  Palissy 
faience,  and  on  the  other  by  a  silver  dish, 
wrought  with  designs  by  Benvenuto  Cellini. 
Still  above,  arms  were  arranged  in  a  fanciful 
device.  Next  to  the  cabinet  stood  a  prie  Dieu, 
supporting  various  old  manuscripts  and  illumi- 
nated missals,  a  little  above  which  hung  a  St. 
Jerome  translating  the  Bible,  executed  by  some 
old  master.  A  bureau,  in  the  style  of  Louis 
XIII.,  enriched  with  tortoise-shell  and  mar- 
queterie,  was  the  next  article,  its  drawers  being 
filled  with  costumes  in  rich  old  brocades  and 
satin  damask.  Such  was.,  the  room  as  Van  had 
hired  it ;  the  other  articles  which  it  now  contained 
belonged  to  the  young  men,  and  were  of  a  very 
common  and  useful  nature.  They  had  been 
obliged  to  purchase  everything  necessary  for 
studio  use,  the  furnishings  of  the  apartment  in 
no  way  suggested  that  it  had  been  used  for  work, 
and  it  seemed  doubtful  to  Van  if  a  picture  had 


198  BOURBON  LILIES. 

been  painted  in  it  before  their  arrival.  He  drew 
the  attention  of  Orsovitch  to  his  surmise  on  this 
particular  morning,  and  asked,  "  Do  you  suppose 
he  was  a  landscapist,  that  we  see  no  signs  of 
indoor  work  ? " 

"  He  was  more  probably  a  swindler,"  replied 
Orsovitch,  savagely.  "  A  real  artist  does  not 
need  to  be  surrounded  by  such  clap-trap.  He 
will  do  his  best  work  under  the  bare  rafters  of 
the  attic,  or  seated  in  the  straw  of  the  barn-yard. 
This  is,  indeed,  a  pretty  work-room.  The  man 
who  arranged  it  may  have  swindled  himself,  along 
with  his  other  admirers,  into  the  belief  that 
he  was  a  painter,  but  he  was  none  the  less  an 
impostor." 

"  To  have  a  studio  furnished  in  this  way  is  the 
ideal  of  most  American  artists,"  said  Van. 

"  It  is  my  ideal  of  the  height  of  vulgarity," 
replied  Orsovitch.  "What  do  you  suppose  the 
man  who  lived  here  cared  for  these  things  ? 
Nothing  whatever.  It  was  the  most  expensive 
style  of  furnishing,  and  that  was  why  he  adopted 
it.  If  it  had  cost  more  to  fit  up  the  room  in 
horse-hair,  or  in  red  furniture  calico,  he  would 
have  done  it." 

"Perhaps  he  had  the  tastes  of  an  antiquary, 
and  really  liked  to  hunt  about  for  old  things  in 
out-of-the-way  places,"  suggested  Eulalie. 


ERIC  A  BRAG.  199 


"  Yes,"  added  Van,  "  each  piece  may  have  its 
history  of  personal  interest  to  him,  —  some  heir- 
loom owned  in  the  family  for  centuries,  souvenirs 
of  travel,  articles  purchased  because  once  owned 
by  characters  whose  history  he  had  studied  until 
he  learned  to  love  them,  and  which  have  since 
figured  in  we  know  not  how  many  pictures  of  his 
painting." 

The  expression  on  the  young  Russian's  face 
was  something  like  a  sneer.  "  If  either  of  your 
suppositions  were  correct,"  said  he,  "  we  should 
at  least  have  genuine  relics  here.  There  is  an 
Indian  cabinet  that  never  saw  India.  That 
leather-covered  chair  is  Flemish,  certainly,  but  it 
is  of  modern  make,  cleverly  imitated  from  ancient 
models  ;  they  will  get  you  up  whole  sets  of  studio 
furniture  in  that  style  in  Mechlin.  That  heavily 
embossed  silver  plate  is  only  plaster  metalized. 
The  'old  master'  is  a  very  poor  copy,  with 
nothing  of  the  original  preserved  except  its 
smoke  and  dilapidation.  I  wonder  what  shoe- 
maker set  in  that  patch  which  restores  the  old 
gentleman's  nose,  with  the  stitches  showing 
across  the  room." 

"  But  are  all  the  articles  in  the  room  forgeries  ? " 
Van  asked  in  amazement. 

"  No,  certainly  not,  but  the  others  were  bought 


20O  BOURBON   LILIES. 

at  auction  at  the  Hotel  Drouot  without  method 
or  intention.  The  man  had  no  favorite  specialty, 
it  was  all  one  to  him  whether  he  possessed  a 
Bible  of  the  time  of  Luther,  or  an  image  of  Osiris 
belonging  to  one  of  the  Ptolemies,  provided  only 
it  was  something  artistic.  The  genuine  antiqui- 
ties here  are  as  really  pretentious  as  the  false 
ones.  What  right  have  we,  after  all,  with  all  this 
cast-off  finery  of  our  ancestors  ?  What  sympathy 
has  to-day  with  an  age  and  customs  that  are 
dead  ?  I  have  come  to  respect  most  of  all  what 
people  call  vulgarity  and  commonness.  What 
could  be  more  essentially  bourgeois  and  inartistic 
in  character  than  Corot's  lodgings  ?  Give  me  a 
room  furnished  with  modern  comfort  and  ele- 
gance. Chairs  with  delicious  springs  and  stuffed 
with  some  view  to  adaptability  to  the  human 
form ;  neither  so  light  and  gimcracky  as  to  fly 
into  splinters  the  moment  you  trust  your  whole 
weight  upon  them,  like  that  gilded,  lace-bedecked 
Italian  abomination,  nor  ecclesiastically  rock-like 
as  the  others.  And  let  the  room  be  softly  an  I 
warmly  carpeted  and  hung  with  rich  curtains. 
Let  it  be  all  comfort,  modern  comfort,  with  not 
an  atom  of  pretense.  Am  I  not  right,  Made- 
moiselle Eulalie  ?  And  you,  Van,  with  all  your 
antiquarian  foolishness,  would  you  care  to  live  in 
theHdtel  Cluny?" 


BRIG  A  BRAC.  2OI 


"  Perhaps  I  should  want  to  trade  off  some  of 
the  old  treasures  for  a  few  modern  conveniences," 
Van  replied.  "  Now  that  I  come  to  take  that 
view  of  it,  the  Cluny  Palace,  perfect  as  it  is  as  a 
museum  of  ancient  luxury,  would  make  a  very 
poor  home.  But  I  think  you  are  wrong  in  cutting 
us  off  so  completely  from  the  past,  and  I  cannot 
believe  that  you  are  speaking  your  true  feeling. 
A  man  whose  nobility  dates  as  far  back  as  your 
own,  and  with  associations  connecting  him  so 
intimately  with  by-gone  times,  can  hardly  be  the 
radical  your  words  would  seem  to  suggest." 

"What  is  America  good  for,"  replied  Orso- 
vitch,  "  if  not  to  teach  us  that  we  can  do  without 
a  past,  and  that  worth  is  the  only  nobility  ?  But 
we  are  both  talking  to  very  little  purpose»  and 
Mademoiselle  Eulalie  has  not  given  her  opinion. 
She  knows  more  of  the  workings  of  hereditary 
caste  than  you,  she  is  not  fenced  in  by  it  as  I 
am.  I  am  very  sure  it  is  her  opinion  that  the 
old  systems  have  done  their  work  very  poorly, 
and  that  the  fewer  reminders  we  have  of  them, 
and  the  more  earnestly  we  strive  to  act  as  indi- 
viduals, forgetting  all  distinctions  of  class,  the 
better  for  us,  our  age,  and  the  future." 

Was  Orsovitch  growing  crazy  ?  Van  asked 
of  himself.  Here  they  had  drifted  from  a  chat 
26 


202  BOURBON   LILIES. 

about  old  furniture,  into  as  pretty  a  political 
muddle  as  ever  distracted  the  brains  of  the 
French  nation.  What  had  so  suddenly  changed 
Orsovitch  into  a  red  republican  ?  Was  he  in 
love  with  Eulalie  and  trying  to  argue  away  class 
distinctions  in  order  to  place  himself  on  the  same 
social  standing  with  her  ?  It  certainly  looked  like 
it,  and  yet  this  was  the  worst  that  could  possibly 
happen  under  the  circumstances.  How  would 
Eulalie  answer  him  ?  He  was  waiting  for  her 
reply  with  all  the  eagerness  of  a  second  Numa 
Pompilius  listening  to  the  political  theories  of 
his  Egeria. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  the  old  times  have,  after 
all,  done  their  work  so  poorly,"  said  Eulalie. 
"That  is  just  the  way  that  Amedee  talks;  he 
thinks  we  should  all  be  communists.  But  Uncle 
Paquerette  maintains  there  never  can  be  a  gov- 
ernment like  the  old  empire,  never  a  ruler  like 
the  first  Napoleon,  and  Mere  Angelique  believes 
in  the  divine  right  of  kings,  and  of  the  Bourbon 
family  to  the  throne ;  which  makes  me  think  that 
there  was  some  good  in  all  these  systems.  Per- 
haps each  one  was  best  for  its  age,  and  the 
present  state  of  affairs  is  best  for  us.  It  seems 
to  me  that  circumstances  fit  themselves  naturally 
for  us,  or  rather  that  God  does  it.  I  have  a  hor 


BRIG  A  BRAG.  2OJ 


ror  of  all  revolutions ;  nothing  good  comes  from 
them.  Oh  !  if  you  had  seen  the  Commune  in 
Paris,  you  would  agree  with  me  that  it  is  better 
to  endure  in  whatever  class  you  may  be  placed, 
than  to  attempt  violently  to  overthrow  barriers 
that  are  almost  impassable.  But  I  do  not  know 
anything  of  politics.  It  only  seems  to  me  that 
whatever  is,  is  right.  I  have  my  own  little  duties 
that  keep  my  thoughts  and  hands  full,  and  I  let 
the  good  God  take  care  of  all  the  great  affairs." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  friend's  idea  of  hav- 
ing no  reminders  of  the  past  about  us  ? "  Van 
asked,  anxious  to  get  the  conversation  back  again 
to  old  furniture  and  quite  away  from  dangerous 
themes. 

"  I  think,"  said  Eulalie  modestly,  V  that  when  a 
family  has  anything  worth  remembering  in  its 
history,  it  is  very  beautiful  to  keep  all  relics  that 
may  suggest  remarkable  events,  or  even  the  dear 
old  people  themselves,  though  they  did  nothing 
wonderful  in  all  their  lives.  Oh  !  I  haven't  quite 
forgiven  the  communists  for  destroying  the  Na- 
poleon rockery  of  my  great-grandfather.  I  have 
a  watch  that  belonged  to  my  grandfather  on  my 
father's  side  which  I  keep  very  jealously,  for  to 
me  it  is  a  proof  that  we  are  not  descended  from 
peasants." 


204  BOURBON   LILIES. 

"  I  did  not  mean  all  family  heir-looms,"  said 
Orsovitch ;  "  or  if  I  did  include  them,  perhaps  I 
was  a  little  too  sweeping.  There  are  treasures 
of  this  kind  that  are  as  sacred  to  us  as  our  mother's 
wedding-ring,  though,  coming  from  remote  ages, 
it  seems  to  me  they  can  never  have  the  personal 
interest  that  the  little  mementos  have  which 
belonged  to  those  we  once  knew  and  loved. 
After  all,  can  you  not  grant  me  that  nobility  is 
more  a  thing  of  circumstance  than  of  race  ;  that 
a  convict  and  a  titled  hero,  if  their  station  in 
life  had  been  changed  from  their  birth  up,  would 
have  given  to  the  world  totally  opposite  charac- 
ters?" 

"  Hardly,"  replied  Van  ;  "  it  seems  to  me  that 
character  is  never  created  by  circumstance,  only 
developed  by  it.  The  thought  struck  me  when 
in  the  church  the  other  day.  I  was  looking  at 
the  window  at  the  left  of  the  grand  altar,  where 
Madeline  de  Savoie,  the  wife  of  the  great  Connd- 
taole  de  Montmorenci,  kneels  at  the  head  of  the 
procession  of  her  daughters,  her  bosom  swelling 
proudly  in  her  stiff,  gold-laced  bodice,  with  the 
consciousness  of  having  done  her  duty  well  by 
church,  and  state,  and  family.  Among  the  goodly 
train  of  girls  that  followed  her,  there  was  one 
childish  face  that  impressed  me  at  once  as  being 


BRIC   A  BRAG.  2O5 


that  of  Charlotte  Henriette.  All  of  the  possibilities 
of  the  future  were  already  marked  in  her  baby  fea- 
tures. There  was  promise  of  enough  beauty  to  turn 
the  head  of  even  the  husband  of  a  Marie  de  Medi- 
cis ;  enough  of  her  mother's  proud  virtue  to  keep 
her  true  to  her  husband,  the  Prince  de  Cond6, 
mingled  with  a  wayward  coquetry  all  her  own, 
which  would  delight  in  seeing  France  and  Spain  at 
war  on  her  account ;  while  there  was  something  of 
the  resolution  and  iron  will  of  her  father  in  the 
dashing  carriage  of  the  little  head,  which  proved 
her  capable  of  the  midnight  flight  from  the  castle, 
the  elopement  with  her  own  husband,  and  the 
long,  breathless  ride  toward  the  Belgian  frontier. 
Each  of  the  other  sisters  might  have  possessed 
some  one  of  these  characteristics,  but  no  other 
combined  them  ;  and  though  I  am  not  a  fatalist, 
and  certainly  do  not  believe  in  the  Calvinistic 
doctrine  of  predestination,  I  felt  that  Charlotte 
de  Montmorenci  was  set  apart  from  infancy  for 
the  role  which  she  was  to  play  in  the  history  of 
France." 

"  I  give  you  credit  for  being  '  set  apart  from 
infancy'  as  a  collector  of  old  relics,  and  an 
unwearying  talker,"  said  Orsovitch  with  a  laugh. 
"  But,  Mademoiselle  Eulalie,  the  clock  tells  me 
that  I  have  kept  you  too  long,  and  with  your  per- 


206  BOURBON   LILIES. 

mission  I  will  walk  across  the  meadows  with 
you." 

Van  watched  them  as  they  went  He  walked 
very  near  her,  and  seemed  to  be  talking  earnestly. 
They  parted  at  the  edge  of  the  village,  but  Orso- 
vitch  did  not  reenter  the  house  immediately,  and 
Van  saw  the  spark  of  his  cigar  moving  firefly-like 
slowly  in  and  out  amongst  the  shrubbery  of  the 
garden  until  a  late  hour. 

Van  had  retired  when  Orsovitch  entered.  He 
came  and  leaned  upon  'the  foot  of  his  friend's 
bed,  saying  abruptly,  "What  a  wonderful  girl 
she  is  !  Do  you  know,  she  really  loves  the  garde 
chasse,  and  I  believe  she  would  be  true  to  him 
even  if  she  did  not." 

"  Look  here,  old  fellow,"  said  Van  earnestly, 
"  you  are  not  falling  in  love  with  Eulalie,  I  hope. 
You  couldn't  marry  her,  you  know ;  that  sort  of 
thing  would  not  suit  the  parentals." 

"  I  know,"  Orsovitch  replied  ;  "  I  have  thought 
it  over,  and  have  dismissed  it  from  my  mind 
entirely  —  it  can't  be." 

"  I  trust  you  have  not  thought  of  another  solu- 
tion of  the  question,"  Van  said  gravely. 

"  Look  at  me,  Van,"  replied  Orsovitch  hotly ; 
"  have  you  ever  suspected  me  of  any  designs  of 
throwing  a  stone  through  the  face  of  the  Virgin 
in  the  Raphael  window  of  the  old  church  ? " 


BRIG  A  BRAG.  2O/ 


"  Certainly  not.     Why  ? " 

"  You  know  that  I  admired  it,  and  that  I  could 
never  hope  to  possess  it,  and  your  last  query 
showed  that  you  know  me  so  little,  that  such  an 
apprehension  on  your  part  would  be  perfectly  con- 
sistent." And  striding  wrathfully  into  his  own 
room,  he  closed  the  door  with  a  bang. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

CHATEAUX   EN   ESPAGNE. 

Man  weaves,  and  is  dotfaed  with  derision; 

Sows,  and  he  shall  not  reap. 
Oar  life  is  a  watch  and  a  vision 

Between  a  sleep  and  a  sleep. 

Swnmnon. 

«  E  would  never  have  thought  La  Gazette  a 
conspirator,  or  supposed  she  had  intellect 
enongh  to  trouble  herself  with  any  deep-laid  or 
ambitious  plans.  The  sharp,  shrivelled  face, 
with  its  bead -like  black  eyes  and  garrulous 
mouth,  was  quite  suggestive  of  destroying  the 
plans  and  characters  of  others,  but  not  of  profit- 
ing herself  by  such  disaster.  She  looked  a 
simple  marplot,  a  malicious,  backbiting  old 
witch,  whose  chiefest  pleasure  would  be  in 
covering  with  slime  the  fair  fame  of  the  whitest 
character  in  the  village.  And  yet,  La  Gazette 
was  much  more  than  this.  She  was  not  destitute 
of  natural  affection,  and  could  be  kindly  enough 

(208) 


CHATEAUX  EN  ESPAGNE.  209 

when  the  one  soft  spot  in  her  almost  wholly 
petrified  heart  prompted  her  to  it  That  soft 
spot  was  only  for  her  daughter  now, — the 
daughter  who  had  disgraced  her  in  earlier  life, 
when  there  was  something  of  pride  and  self- 
respect  to  feel  it ;  and  who  had  deserted  her, 
going  away  to  St  Cloud,  to  run  recklessly  hi  bad 
courses,  until  sickness  and  poverty,  joined  with 
conscience,  had  caused  her  to  make  new  resolu- 
tions, and  to  return  to  her  native  village  and  to 
the  mother  whose  grey  hairs  she  had  brought 
down  in  sorrow  to  the  verge  of  the  grave,  deter- 
mined to  begin  life  anew.  But  this  was  not  an 
easy  thing  among  the  sneers  and  taunts  of  old 
companions  ;  and  Sidonie,  though  she  held  to  her 
resolution  of  amendment,  grew  hard  and  bitter, 
answering  scorn  with  scorn,  while  her  mother, 
seeing  her  daughter  harshly  judged,  set  herself 
to  work  with  a  will  to  prove  every  other  girl  in 
the  village  as  bad  as  she. 

The  kindest  woman  in  all  the  country  round  to 
Sidonie  was  the  Mere  Angelique.  La  Gazette, 
encouraged  by  this  friendly  treatment  had  pro- 
posed Sidonie's  marriage  with  Amedee.  Mere 
Angelique  declined  the  proposal  on  the  simple 
grounds  that  Amedee  was  already  betrothed,  but 
still  La  Gazette  did  not  despair.  If  only  Eulalie's 


2IO  BUUKBON  LILIES. 

reputation  could  be  blackened,  and  she  be  thus 
reduced  to  the  same  social  footing  with  Sidonie, 
the  latter's  superior  pecuniary  attractions  must 
prevail,  thought  La  Gazette,  for  Mere  Angelique 
had  not  told  her  how  nearly  Old-mine-of-gun- 
powder  (as  Adolph  called  Ame'de'e)  had  exploded 
when  the  plan  had  been  mentioned  to  him. 

After  her  return  from  Eulalie's  shop,  on  the 
second  day  that  Eulalie  had  posed  for  the  young 
artists,  she  broached  the  subject  to  her  daughter, 
who,  as  yet,  knew  nothing  of  it. 

Mother  and  daughter  sat  in  the  open  air  in  the 
shade  of  their  poor  house,  making  passementerie, 
patiently  sewing  beads  to  yards  of  gimp  and 
braid,  wound,  so  as  to  form  the  required  pattern, 
about  pins  fastened  in  a  stick;  and,  while  La 
Gazette  wove  her  thread  in  and  out,  she  wove 
meshes  as  intricate  about  Eulalie's  feet,  webs 
which,  in  effecting  her  fall,  were  to  lift  Sidonie 
higher. 

"  Sidonie,"  said  she,  "  I  have  been  building  a 
chateau  en  Espagne  for  you." 

"It's  of  no  use,  mother;  they  always  fall  to 
pieces,  and  when  one  has  been  dreaming  one  out, 
and  then  looks  around  and  sees  only  the  walls  of 
one's  garret,  one  is  all  the  more  dissatisfied." 

"  But  suppose  this  is  not  in  Spain,  but  an  old 


CHATEAUX  EN  ESPAGNE.       211 

chateau  of  solid  stone  here  in  France,  and  you 
may  be  the  lady  of  it  if  you  like." 

"  One  doesn't  often  find  chateaux  begging  for 
owners  in  this  country.  And  I  tell  you  once  for 
all,  mother,  that  if  such  a  position  were  to  be 
gained  by  marriage,  I  would  not  hear  to  it.  I 
should  despise  the  man  who  would  marry  me." 

"  Not  for  the  sake  of  the  child  ? " 

"  And  what  good  would  it  do  the  child  ?  As 
long  as  she  is  at  St.  Cloud  no  one  knows  of  her 
existence,  but  if  I  took  her  home,  even  if  any  one 
could  be  found  willing  to  adopt  her  when  he 
married  me,  the  shame  of  her  birth  would  never 
be  forgotten,  and  would  be  thrown  in  her  face  by 
all  of  these  people  as  soon  as  she  grew  old  enough 
to  comprehend  it.  No !  no !  I  tell  you  it  is 
impossible ;  and  think  what  a  life  of  humiliation 
mine  would  be.  Now  I  am  at  least  independent, 
and  can  out-stare  any  one,  —  yes,  and  rival  them 
in  insults,  too,  if  they  go  from  disdainful  looks  to 
words.  What  family  is  there  that  would  receive 
me  with  decency  in  case  the  man  could  be  found 
mean  enough  to  be  bought  by  my  money  ?  For 
the  man  is  not  living  who  is  good  enough  to 
marry  me  for  any  other  motive." 

"  I  think  I  know  of  such  a  family,  and  a  woman 
who  would  treat  you  with  as  much  honor  as  her 


212  BOUKBON   LILIES. 

daughter-in-law  as  if  you  were  a  saint,  provided 
always  you  were  true  to  your  husband." 

"  Who  is  she  ? " 

"  The  Mere  Angelique." 

Mother  and  daughter  were  silent  for  some 
tim  ~.  At  length  Sidonie  spoke  : 

tj  You  mean  Ame'dee.  I  scarcely  know  him  ; 
but  I  believe  what  you  say  of  his  mother  is  true. 
And  so  the  chateau  you  spoke  of  is  that  dismal 
old  Chateau  de  la  Chasse,  and  I  should  have  to 
be  shut  up  there  for  the  rest  of  my  days.  Well,  I 
have  sometimes  thought  of  going  into  a  convent, 
and  it  would  not  be  any  worse  than  that.  •  But  he 
must  understand  it  is  all  for  the  sake  of  the 
child." 

"  See  here,  my  child,  that  is  not  my  plan  at 
all.  You  are  young  and  handsome,  and  fond  of 
society ;  and  if  I  want  you  to  marry  Amedee,  it 
is  not  that  you  shall  be  buried  alive,  but  that 
these  old  eyes  may  see  you,  before  I  die,  gay  and 
happy  and  envied  by  all  your  friends." 

"  Mother,  you  are  crazy  !  " 

"Daughter,   I   am   not     Listen:   this   is   my 

plan.    The  Chateau  de  la  Chasse  is  near  the  town 

of  Montmorenci,  is   it  not  ?     Good.      Plenty  of 

Parisians  pass  their  summers  at  Montmorenci. 

*The  town  is  not  big  enough  to  hold  them,  the 


CHATEAUX   EN   ESPAGNE.  2l3 

h6tels  are  always  full,  and  the  villas  rent  for 
prices  to  break  your  heart.  Good.  Strangers 
are  always  driving  out  to  the  chateau,  and  they  are 
always  thirsty  when  they  get  there,  and  the  poor 
creatures  are  obliged  to  drink  water  or  else  can  y 
their  wine  with  them.  Good  again,  and  better. 
Amedee  is  stupid  ;  he  doesn't  see  that  all  he  has 
to  do  is  to  apply  to  the  government  for  per- 
mission to  keep  a  hdtel  and  restaurant  there,  and 
his  fortune  is  made.  It  could  be  made  the  most 
,'ashionable  resort  in  the  neighborhood  of  Paris. 
If  they  were  not  willing  to  have  the  precious  old 
ruin  used  in  that  way,  so  much  the  better.  You 
have  money  enough  to  build  a  villa,  with  plenty 
of  fresh  paint  and  gilding,  and  little  arbors  in  the 
wood  in  which  to  serve  meals,  with  colored  lights 
hung  round  at  night,  and  music  and  a  ball  every 
Sunday.  I  would  come  at  first  and  work  for  you 
as  your  cook,  and  as  time  went  on,  and  you  made 
more  money,  you  could  afford  to  have  a  pastry- 
cook and  confectioner  from  Paris.  You  have 
the  inside  of  the  fish  market  now,  and  could  have 
your  table  furnished  with  salmon  a  yard  long, 
fresh  trout,  lobsters,  oysters,  shrimps,  anchovy 
and  all  of  the  very  nicest  fish.  That's  enough 
alone  to  make  the  reputation  of  your  house ;  and 
I  can  make  such  sauce  hollandaise  and  mayonnaise 


214  BOURBON   LILIES. 

as  would  make  even  stale  fish  adorable.  Then, 
Amedee  could  shoot  a  little  game  on  the  sly, 
and  we  could  have  gibelotte  of  rabbit,  and  pigeon 
vol  au  vent ;  and  now  and  then  a  roast  partridge 
or  a  pheasant,  served  as  I  have  seen  them  at  the 
great  houses  here,  with  the  skin  and  all  the  gay 
feathers  of  the  bird  laid  over  it,  with  a  sheet  of 
paper  between,  so  that  it  looked  as  if  it  was  sitting 
alive  in  the  dish.  And  Am6dee  could  gain  many 
an  extra  five-franc  piece  by  letting  sportsmen 
hunt  in  the  forest,  not  too  often,  you  know. 
Your  mother  may  be  getting  old,  but  she  hasn't 
lost  all  her  senses  yet,  eh,  Sidonie  ? " 

Sidonie  nodded.  "  You  are  a  marvel,  mother ; 
go  on." 

"Then  you  know  the  Mere  Angelique  could 
bring  over  the  vegetables  and  fruit  from  her 
garden  ;  and  Cousin  Jean  Maria  Thiefer,  who  has 
made  so  much  money  as  wholesale  wine  mer- 
chant (simply  because  he  makes  his  own  wines), 
would  set  up  our  cellar  for  us.  He  would  take 
all  that  cider  that  I  made  from  the  frozen  and 
rotten  pears  which  the  artists  gave'  me  last  fall, 
and  just  put  a  little  pop  and  fizz  into  it,  put  it  up 
in  nice-looking  bottles,  with  wired  corks  and 
handsome  labels,  and  you'd  have  crack  cham- 
pagne. Then  he  would  only  have  to  add  some 


CHATEAUX  EN  ESPAGNE.       215 

drugs  from  his  pharmacy,  a  different  one  for  each 
particular  bouquet,  to  that  cask  of  sour  mn 
ordinaire  which  we  made,  from  the  dregs  of  the 
vats  at  the  last  vintage,  and  by  saving  the  water 
in  which  we  washed  the  bottles  at  the  Hotel  du 
Nord,  and  there  you  are  with  your  Chateau 
Yquem,  Chateau  Lafitte,  and  Chateau  Rose  and 
Margeaux,  plenty  of  wax  on  the  corks,  and  the  bot- 
tles well  greased,  and  plenty  of  cobwebs  and  dirt 
rolled  around  them.  And  you  should  sit  behind 
the  counter  and  pour  out  the  absinthe  and  ver- 
mout  and  cura9oa  for  your  customers,  and  order 
your  waiters  about.  That's  not  the  first  year, 
nor  the  second,  but  you  should  have  them  at  last, 
waiters  with  napkins  under  their  arms,  and  white 
aprons  trailing  like  a  lady's  dress,  only  in  front 
instead  of  behind.  You  should  have  two  silk 
dresses,  an  India  shawl,  and  real  diamond  ear- 
rings, which  you  can  pawn  whenever  you  have 
need  of  ready  money.  Keep  the  cash-box  your- 
self, my  dear,  for  Amedee's  head  is  none  too 
strong  where  money  is  concerned  ;  only  be  gen- 
erous with  him,  let  him  have  his  little  luxuries, 
that  is  the  way  to  manage  a  man.  You  could 
let  rooms  at  a  very  high  rate  in  the  chateau  to 
English  people,  who  are  willing  to  pay  for  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  could  have  the  rooms  restored 


2l6  BOURBON   LILIES. 

in  old  style  furniture  for  those  who  liked  it 
Then,  with  two  or  three  smaller  villas  to  rent  for 
the  season  to  families  who  would  take  their  meals 
at  your  house,  your  income  would  be  all  you 
could  desire.  We  could  make  it  a  favorite  resort 
for  the  Ecouen  artists ;  they  should  have  the 
great  hall  in  the  chateau  for  a  club-room,  on  con- 
dition that  each  should  paint  a  panel  for  it,  as 
they  do  at  the  inn  at  Barbizon.  You  would  see, 
you  would  soon  have  wedding  parties  from  Paris, 
and  your  hands  and  your  purse  would  be  always 
full.  No  more  crying  fish  about  these  dirty 
streets,  no  more  insults  and  injuries ;  you  would 
have  nothing  but  smiles  and  compliments  from 
every  one ;  and  by  and  by  you  could  bring  your 
daughter  home  from  boarding-school,  and  marry 
her  well  to  a  husband  of  your  own  choosing. 
What  do  you  say  to  that,  Sidonie  ? " 

Sidonie  did  not  reply  in  words,  but  she  rose 
from  her  seat,  laid  down  her  work,  and  kissed  her 
mother  on  both  cheeks.  It  was  the  first  time  she 
had  done  so  since  she  had  been  a  little  child,  and 
there  were  people  in  the  street  who  stared,  sur- 
prised at  such  demonstration,  and  women  in  the 
house  opposite  who  laughed  derisively,  but  Sidonie 
did  not  care.  As  for  La  Gazette,  her  small  eyes 
shone  brighter  than  the  jet  beads  she  was  thread- 


CHATEAUX  EN  ESPAGNE.  21 7 

ing,  and  seemed  almost  to  pop  from  her  head,  like 
those  of  the  shrimps  in  her  daughter's  basket. 
"  There  is  only  one  obstacle  in  the  way,"  she 
mumbled,  "and  I  shall  soon  grind  that  to  powder." 

"Where  is  the  obstacle,  if  the  family  are 
willing  ?  "  asked  Sidonie. 

"There,"  replied  La  Gazette,  pointing  across 
the  meadows,  where  in  the  gathering  twilight 
Eulalie  was  hastening  home  from  the  studio. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    FETE. 

And  all  the  village  train,  from  labor  free, 

Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  spreading  tree, 

And  many  a  gambol  frolick'd  o'er  the  ground, 

And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength  went  round ; 

These  were  thy  charms,  sweet  village  !  sports  like  these. 

With  sweet  succession,  taught  e'en  toil  to  please. 

GOLDSMITH. 

"\  7" AN  did  not  see  Orsovitch  all  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  feared  that  he  had  seriously  offended 
him  But  after  dinner  he  said  pleasantly,  at  the 
same  time  snatching  from  his  hand  the  French 
conversation  book  which  he  had  been  pretend- 
ing to  study,  "What,  still  in  smoking-cap  and 
slippers  ?  Go  directly  and  make  yourself  present- 
able, or  we  shall  be  late  to  the  fete  ;  it  comes  only 
once  a  year,  and  is  one  of  the  sights  of  Ecouen." 
"  That  may  be,"  replied  the  other,  "  but  since 
my  exploit  at  Madame  Robusti's  soiree,  I  have 
thought  I  had  better  make  further  progress  in  the 
language  before  I  ventured  again  into  society." 


THE  FETE.  219 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,"  replied  Orsovitch", 
"there  is  no  way  to  succeed  except  by  failure. 
Come  along  to  the  fete ;  I  will  warrant  you  will 
learn  more  from  what  you  hear  there  than  from  a 
week's  study  of  the  conversation  book.  Of  what 
possible  use  in  any  society  will  such  nonsense  as 
this  be  to  you :  '  Does  the  baker's  wife's  sister 
buy  the  good  cheese  of  the  brother-in-law  of  the 
shoemaker  ?  Do  you  like  the  pretty  daughter  of 
the  tailor  ?  I  do  not  like  the  pretty  daughter  of 
the^tailor,  but  I  like  the  strong  iron  snuffers  of 
the  rich  old  butcher.' ' 

"  Hold,  hold,  Orsovitch,"  Van  cried,  "you  are 
quite  right,  and  I  will  go." 

The  fete  was  held  on  the  Jeu  de  Paume,  or  old 
ball  ground  of  the  town.  It  occupied  a  sightly 
terrace  at  the  foot  of  the  castle,  and  commanded 
a  beautiful  view  of  Ecouen  and  a  score  of  other 
circling  villages.  Grand  old  trees  surrounded  it, 
forming  delicious,  green-vaulted,  many-columned 
promenades  for  those  sentimentally  inclined.  At 
one  end  of  the  grounds  was  the  musicians'  stand  ; 
at  the  other,  under  a  fluttering  canopy,  enlivened 
with  flying  flags  and  ribbons,  was  the  chevaux  de 
bois,  a  merry-go-round,  where,  to  the  sound  of  a 
hand-organ,  the  peasant  girls  and  boys  were  in- 
dulging in  the  luxury  of  a  dizzy,  whirligig  race  on 


22O  BOURBON  LILIES. 

hobby-horses  steadily  propelled  in  a  circle  by  the 
turning  of  a  crank  at  the  centre.  Pere  Paque- 
rette  had  considered  himself  fortunate  in  being 
commissioned  for  this  service,  but  before  the  day 
was  over,  in  spite  of  the  refreshment  of  frequent 
bocks  of  strong  Strasbourg  beer,  the  old  man 
gave  out  from  sheer  exhaustion.  "  You  expect 
a  man  to  do  that !  "  he  said ;  "  it  is  the  work  of  ten 
horses ;  keep  your  unhappy  two  francs,  I  would 
not  do  it  for  twice  the  money." 

The  grounds  were  lined  with  booths,  in  which 
toys  and  refreshments  were  displayed  ;  but  these 
were  comparatively  deserted,  as  a  little  apart, 
under  a  tent  upon  another  terrace,  was  occurring 
the  event  of  the  afternoon,  a  prize  game,  the  gifts 
awarded  to  the  successful  competitors  being  fur- 
nished by  the  town.  A  circle  of  eager  spectators 
leaned  upon  the  rope  which  circled  the  arena, 
and  Orsovitch  and  Van  found  seats  among  them. 
From  the  centre  of  the  tent  a  weighted  cord  was 
suspended,  while  at  a  considerable  distance  stood 
the  players.  Presently,  amongst  cheering  and 
uproarious  laughter,  an  official  brought  forward 
an  immense,  hollow  papier-mache"  head,  upon 
which  a  grotesque,  grinning  face  was  rudely 
painted.  This  huge  extinguisher  was  placed  over 
the  head  of  little  Charlotte,  resting  down  upon 


THE  FETE.  221 

her  shoulders,  and  completely  blindfolding  her. 
A  pair  of  scissors  were  then  placed  in  her  hand, 
and  she  attempted  to  walk  straight  forward  and 
cut  the  cord.  Her  success  would  have  been  very 
improbable,  for  the  spectators  tried  their  best  to 
confuse  her  with  cries  of  a  gauche,  a  droit,  had 
she  not  been  guided  by  the  sound  of  the  drum  of 
the  town  crier,  Martin  le  Maladroit,  who  walked 
by  her  side,  and  claimed  a  kiss  when  she  cut  the 
cord,  as  he  did  from  all  the  others  in  return,  for 
his  assistance.  Lucky  drummer !  how  many 
peach-blossom  cheeks,  and  pouting,  half-disdain- 
ful lips  were  grazed  by  thy  rarely-shaven  stubble- 
field  of  a  chin.  Light  moccasin-footed  girls,  the 
southern  espadrilles  being  much  in  vogue  among 
the  Ecouen  peasantry,  how  gladly  would  Van  or 
Orsovitch  have  laid  down  palette  and  brush  for 
thy  guiding  drumsticks.  There  were  those  among 
you  whose  sober  faces  told  of  more  years,  and 
reddened  hands  of  harder  toil  than  the  others, 
who  were  not  so  carefully  led  to  the  goal,  and 
from  whom,  when  a  happy  chance  made  them 
successful,  the  drummer  was  not  so  eager  to 
claim  his  undeserved  reward.  Poor  "over- 
blown, pale  roses,"  had  Van  been  the  drummer, 
you  should  have  had  your  dues  with  the  rest ; 
but  no,  I  was  too  rash  :  Van  was  but  human  after 


222  BOURBON  LILIES. 

all,  and  who  could  blame  the  recreant  drummer 
that  Sidonie,  la  poissonniere,  was  among  the 
slighted. 

The  prizes  were  articles  of  clothing  of  the 
cheapest  description,  but  causing  the  most  unaf 
fected  pleasure  as  the  winner  opened  her  packet. 
After  this  game  followed  a  foot-race  for  the  boys, 
the  premium  being  a  fine  rabbit,  which  was 
carried  off  by  Eulalie's  cousin,  Adolph,  a  bashful, 
long-limbed  youth  who  seemed  more  embarrassed 
than  pleased  by  his  distinction.  Eulalie  need 
have  had  no  fears  for  his  safety,  if  in  the  presence 
of  the  enemy  he  had  manifested  the  same  tim- 
idity which  he  displayed  before  the  village  girls, 
together  with  a  fleetness  of  foot  like  to  that  which 
had  won  him  the  honors  of  the  day.  As  Van 
looked  back  upon  it  in  after  years,  Adolph's  little 
life  dwindled  into  absolute  insignificance  in  the 
presence  of  all  the  suffering  it  caused  to  preserve 
it,  and  perhaps  the  destiny  which  he  finally 
achieved  was  no  nobler,  or  of  more  use  to  the 
world,  than  to  have  formed  a  single  figure  on  the 
great  arithmetical  table  on  which  the  French 
army  works  its  examples  of  subtraction  and 
division. 

The  games  were  over,  and  the  sun  went  down 
behind  the  castle,  every  tower  and  pinnacle  of 


THE  FETE.  223 

which  was  silhouetted  sharply  against  a  back- 
ground of  beaten  gold.  The  dancing  woula  not 
begin  until  night,  and  the  artists  had  plenty  of 
time  for  their  simple  dinner.  When  they  returned 
the  stars  were  glimmering  through  the  trees,  and 
a  boy  was  passing ,  around,  lighting  the  colored 
lanterns  suspended  from  them.  Van  looked  about 
for  Eulalie,  —  he  had  wondered  at  her  absence 
during  the  afternoon,  and  Orsovitch  too,  must 
have  noticed  it,  though  he  had  said  nothing. 
Now,  a  military  band  occupied  the  music  stand, 
and  one  of  Offenbach's  maddest  waltzes  chal- 
lenged the  best  dancers  of  the  village ;  the  reply 
was  simultaneous,  and  the  floor  vibrated  to  flying 
feet,  while  little  whirlwinds  from  fluttering  dresses 
caught  Van's  breath  away,  as  he  stood  near  the 
steps  leading  to  the  floor.  The  old  women  of 
the  village,  whose  dancing  days  were  long  since 
over,  sat  on  the  benches  near  and  watched  the 
frolic.  Lace,  handed  down  to  them  by  their  own 
grandmothers,  covered  hair  as  snowy ;  and  gayly 
embroidered  or  plaided  kerchiefs  draped  their 
bent  shoulders.  The  crow's-feet  about  their  eyes 
were  deepened  with  laughter  as  they  chuckled 
and  gurgled  away  among  themselves  over  some 
funny  story,  which  they  might  have  heard  Abra- 
ham tell,  or  a  practical  joke  perpetrated  in  the 


224  BOURBON  LILIES. 

days  of  Noah.      Merriest  of  all,  was  the  Mere 
Angelique.     She  stood  near  Van,  beside  a  mar- 
velous copper   kettle,  hung  above  a  little  fire. 
Too  fat  and  jolly  to  recall  one  of  Shakespeare's 
witches,  there  was  still  that  in  her  caldron  which 
had  an  uncanny  and  magical  look,  for  she  was 
frying  merveilles.    She  rolled  them  out  with  her 
hand,  in  long  thin  strips,  upon  a  little  table,  and 
then  dropped  them  into  the  boiling  fat,  where  they 
hissed  and  writhed  and  coiled  like  so  many  sea- 
serpents,  bloating  and  bobbing  more  comfortably 
in  time  to  the  tread  of  the  dancers  as  the  fire 
went  down,  and  Mere  Angelique  was  reminded 
that  it  was  time  to  untwist  another  fagot.     She 
transferred  them  from   the  kettle  to  the  great 
bright  colored  salad  dish  on  the  little  table,  by 
means  of  a  brass  ladle  that  was  wonderful  in 
color.     Van  watched  with  half -closed  eyes  the 
reflected  play  of  the  colored  foot-lights  in  it,  as 
the   Mere   Angelique   flourished   it   deftly,   and 
thought  he  had  never  seen  such  a  superb  study 
in  yellows,  since  one  day  long  ago,  in  the  labora- 
tory of  his  chemical  class  at  college,  he  admired 
the  same  exquisite   blending  of   hues  in  some 
sulphur  crystals.     The  copper  kettle  was  also  a 
study,  in  its  way,  of  salmon  tints  shading  from 
delicate    pink    to  deep    bronze.      Beside   Mere 


THE  FETE.  22$ 

Angelique's  crisp  cake  vipers  stood  great  cliffs 
of  gingerbread,  hard  enough  to  have  been  made 
during  the  lifetime  of  the  great  Conn6table  de 
Montmorenci.  Van  fancied  that  Am6d6e  must 
have  dragged  them  petrified  from  the  bottom  of 
the  moat  one  day  when  fishing.  Opposite  this 
stand  stood  La  Possonniere,  with  a  basket  of 
shrimps  which  she  offered,  served  in  little  plates 
on  which  were  printed  amusing  pictures,  couplets, 
and  even  ballads. 

Presently  Am6d^e  strolled  in  and  stood  beside 
his  mother,  watching  her  brisk  movements  with 
pride  and  affection.  Van  did  not  think  it  odd  to 
see  him  without  Eulalie,  for  he  knew  that  in  France 
young  people,  even  when  affianced,  never  attend 
places  of  amusement  together,  the  young  girl 
being  invariably  accompanied  by  her  mother. 

"How  well  you  look  to-night,  mother,"  said 
Ame'de'e ;  "  you  have  on  your  Saint  Esprit  ear- 
rings and  your  Auvergnois  necklace,  too,  and  it 's 
a  long  time  since  I  have  seen  you  wear  either." 

"  It 's  the  last  time,  too,"  replied  the  old  woman, 
cheerily,  "for  I  shall  give  them  as  a  wedding 
present  to  your  wife,  my  boy,  and  I  thought  I 
should  like  to  wear  my  finery  once  more  before  I 
said  good-by  to  it." 

Van  knew  that  ArnddeVs  father  had  come  from 
29 


226  BOURBON  LILIES. 

Auvergne,  and  he  looked  closely  and  curiously  at 
the  trinkets.  The  necklace  lay  over  the  spotless 
muslin  neck-handkerchief,  and  consisted  of  curi- 
ously wrought  golden  medalions,  connected  by 
four  chains  of  wreathen  workmanship,  each  of  a 
different  pattern.  It  could  easily  have  been 
taken  for  a  piece  of  Moorish  jewelry.  With  the 
style  of  the  ear-rings  Van  was  already  familiar, 
for  imitations  of  them  were  quite  common  in  the 
Palais  Royal.  They  were  of  silver,  closely  stud- 
ded with  brilliants,  and  in  the  shape  of  a  dove, 
whence  their  odd  name.  The  doves  held  in 
their  beaks  rainbow -tinted  sprays,  consisting  of 
a  small  ruby,  one  pale  and  one  dark  topaz,  an 
emerald,  a  turquoise,  a  sapphire,  and  an  amethyst 
"  How  beautiful  they  will  look  upon  Eulalie," 
Van  thought,  and  looking  up,  he  saw  her  entering 
the  grounds  with  her  aunt.  Am6d£e  and  his 
mother  noticed  her  at  the  same  time ;  so  did 
Orsovitch,  who,  to  Van's  surprise,  walked  across 
the  grounds,  and  apparently  asked  her  to  dance. 
Am£d£e  scowled  until  his  eye-brows  formed  one 
thick  black  line  across  his  forehead,  but  his 
mother  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  Good,  she  has 
declined,"  she  said. 

"  I  had  rather  she  had  accepted,"  replied  Ame"- 
d£e.  "Why  shouldn't  she  dance?  It  looks  sus 
picious  to  see  her  so  prudish  all  of  a  sudden  " 


THE  FETE.  22/ 

"  It  is  thou  who  art  suspicious,"  exclaimed  his 
mother ;  "  she  dares  not  dance  with  any  other  for 
fear  of  making  thee  jealous".  Go  ask  her ;  it  is  a 
shame  to  let  her  sit  neglected  yonder,  when  she 
should  be  leading  all  the  rest."  And  as  Amdidee 
led  her  by  to  take  their  places  upon  the  floor,  the 
old  woman  smiled  and  nodded  good-naturedly  to 
her  future  daughter-in-law.  Not  so  La  Poisson- 
niere.  With  one  long,  malignant  look  she  scan- 
ned Eulalie  from  head  to  foot;  she  was  all  in 
white,  and  Van  thought  he  had  never  seen  any 
one  so  waxy  pure  and  spiritual ;  but  when  Si- 
donie's  eyes  caught  the  white  flowers  in  her  hair 
and  at  her  throat,  they  seemed  literally  to  flash 
fire  with  rage.  "  Mademoiselle  has  been  making 
her  own  orange  blossoms,"  she  said  scornfully ; 
"  she  might  have  spared  herself  that  trouble ; 
mademoiselle  will  not  need  them." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Sidonie  ? "  asked  the 
Mere  Angelique. 

"I  mean  that  Am6d6e  may  marry  her  if  he 
likes,"  said  the  girl,  significantly.  "  I  am  sure  I 
don't  grudge  her  the  small  consolation  of  a  hus- 
band. But  that  she  should  flaunt  her  orange 
blossoms,  that  are  never  worn  but  by  girls  of 
good  conduct,  in  my  face,  I  will  not  stand.  There 
was  Marie  Lepine,  who  went  up  the  church-steps 


228  BOURBON   LILIES. 

as  proud  as  a  peacock,  with  a  bouquet  as  big  as 
your  brass  kettle.  If  Eulalie  carries  or  wears 
white  flowers  at  her  marriage,  I  will  tear  them 
from  her  hair  in  the  church  porch." 

She  looked  fully  capable  of  it  as  she  snapped 
off  the  heads  of  her  inoffensive  shrimps,  and  Van, 
seeing  Orsovitch  the  centre  of  a  little  knot  of  old 
women  at  some  distance,  walked  across  to  his 
part  of  the  grounds.  Something  exciting  seemed 
to  be^  going  on,  for  La  Gazette,  whose  every 
grimace  and  gesticulation  was  the  consummation 
of  spite,  was  saying,  mockingly,  — 

"  Some  folks  have  models !  model  girls,  too 
virtuous  to  go  in  at  the  front  door ;  they  must 
haver  little  keys  of  their  own,  and  come  in  slyly 
at  the  back  gate.  I  have  posed  for  artists  for 
twenty  years,  and  I  never  needed  to  be  so 
mightily  proper." 

"  What  does  the  creature  mean  ? "  said  Orso- 
vitch, haughtily,  but  his  nervous  hands,  under  his 
tight-folded  arms,  clinched  and  unclinched  sug- 
gestively. 

"  You  know  as  well  as  I,  Monsieur  Hypocrite," 
cackled  the  old  crone.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha !  le  roi 
s  amuse  comme  toujours.  But  in  my  day,  models 
did  not  slip  slyly  into  gentlemen's  rooms,  and 
were  not  asked  to  wait  a  while  in  the  garden 


THE  FETE.  229 

when  there  was  company,  as  though  there  were 
something  to  be  ashamed  of — " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  villainous  old  harpy," 
exclaimed  Orsovitch,  and  his  face  was  awful  to 
look  at ;  he  seemed  about  to  say  more,  but  Van's 
hand  was  on  his  arm,  and  his  prudence  regained 
its  mastery  over  his  temper.  But  his  threatening 
look  had  been  enough,  and  La  Gazette,  as  though 
she  feared  some  personal  injury,  slipped  through 
a  little  opening  in  the  crowd,  and  ambled  briskly 
away. 

"Come  home,"  whispered  Van,  "there  is  a 
gendarme  walking  this  way,  and  we  may  get 
ourselves  into  trouble." 

Swelling  with  rage,  but  putting  on,  as  well 
as  he  could,  an  expression  of  lofty  indifference, 
Orsovitch  sauntered  carelessly  away. 

When  he  reached  home  his  pent-up  wrath  and 
grief  knew  no  bounds.  "  Oh !  my  soul,"  he 
groaned,  as  he  paced  the  studio,  "  what  misery  I 
have  without  intention  caused  that  girl.  Van, 
Van,  La  Gazette  is  a  covetous  old  soul,  she  loves 
money  even  better  than  a  scandalous  story.  Go 
to  her,  take  my  purse,  insure  her  silence  at  any 
price." 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Van  could  calm  hin\ 
saying  that  the  mischief,  whatever  it  was,  was 


230  BOURBON  LILIES. 

already  done,  and  it  was  too  late  for  any  inter- 
ference  on  their  part.  She  had  evidently  told  all 
that  she  knew,  and  more  ;  any  step  of  theirs  now 
would  only  give  a  coloring  of  truth  to  the  whole 
matter.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  tried  to  console 
him,  arguing  that  if  the  whole  truth  did  come 
out  there  was  nothing  of  positive  wrong  in  it  after 
all.  Orsovitch  saw  further  than  Van,  and  was 
inconsolable.  Van's  sleep  was  troubled,  too, 
that  night,  for  he  felt  that  he  was  more  to  blame 
than  his  friend  ;  it  was  his  injudicious  note  on  the 
garden  gate  that  had  done  it  all. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE  JANUS    FACE. 

» 

Tekel,   them  art  weighed  in   the   balances,   and   art   found 

wanting.  —  DANIEL  v.  27. 

Oh !  rank  is  good,  and  gold  is  good,  and  high  and  low  mate  ill, 
But  love  has  never  known  a  law  beyond  its  own  sweet  will. 

WHITTIER. 

r  I  "HE  excitement  into  which  Orsovitch  had 
been  thrown  had  been  so  great  that  not 
until  the  next  morning  did  he  think  to  open  a 
letter  which  had  been  handed  him  on  his  way 
home  from  the  fete.  It  was  from  an  acquaintance, 
the  Due  de  Champnoix,  who  owned  a  chateau 
and  extensive  hunting  grounds  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Ecouen,  where  he  had  frequently  been 
entertained,  and  invited  him  again  to  a  boar  hunt, 
dinner,  and  night  at  the  chateau.  Orsovitch  had 
often  spoken  to  the  duke  of  his  young  comrade, 
and  this  time  Van  was  included  in  the  invitation. 
In  any  ordinary  circumstances  Orsovitch  would 
have  enjoyed  presenting  his  friend  to  a  new  phase 

(231) 


232  BOURBON  LILIES. 

of  society,  but  in  his  present  state  of  mind  such 
enjoyment  was  out  of  the  question.  For  Van 
invitations  bearing  coronets  upon  their  seals  were 
not  of  ordinary  occurrence,  and  a  boar  hunt  at 
this  season  was  a  rarity,  it  would  be  an  event  in 
his  European  visit,  and,  urged  by  Orsovitch,  it 
was  finally  decided  that  he  should  go  alone,  and 
be  the  bearer  of  regrets  on  the  part  of  his  friend. 
The  duke  was  not  a  complete  stranger,  for  he  had 
met  him  once  when  he  had  called  upon  Orsovitch 
at  the  studio,  and  he  left  his  chum  with  high 
anticipations  of  the  day's  sport  drowning  the 
gloomy  forebodings  of  the  preceding  evening. 

Orsovitch  sat  alone  in  his  studio ;  there  was  no 
picture  upon  his  easel,  and  his  palette  was  unset. 
He  looked  like  a  man  suffering  with  severe  nervous 
headache,  or  one  who  had  been  struggling  long 
and  unsuccessfully  with  some  difficult  mental 
problem.  He  had  grasped  his  head  firmly  with 
both  hands,  as  though  in  so  doing  he  could  hold 
his  wits  to  the  task  before  him  ;  his  elbows  rested 
on  the  table,  and  his  lips  moved  mechanically,  as 
he  went  over  and  over  the  same  chain  of  reason 
ing  which  he  had  pursued  throughout  the  entire 
night.  Van  had  often  said  that  Orsovitch  had  a 
face  which  was  in  itself  an  argument  and  a 
problem.  It  was  an  interesting  face,  at  times 


THE  JANUS   FACE. 


handsome,  but  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  tell 
in  what  its  beauty  consisted,  for  the  features  were 
not  at  all  symmetrical,  and  had  their  irregularity 
been  carried  a  step  further  it  would  have  reached 
the  grotesque.  The  first  peculiarity  that  struck 
the  observer  was  in  the  growth  of  the  abundant 
black  hair ;  it  had  one  of  those  obstinate  freaks 
called  in  vulgar  parlance  a  cowlick,  and  on  one 
side  of  the  face  grew  low,  and  clustering  over 
the  smooth,  white  forehead,  giving  a  deeper  shade 
to  his  dark  eye,  and  a  Grecian  contour  to  the 
profile;  while  upon  the  other  it  swept  back,  as 
though  wind-blown,  displaying  the  intellectual 
arch  of  the  really  high  brow.  A  casual  observer 
would  have  noted  no  more  than  this,  but  for  "Van 
the  face  had  a  peculiar  fascination ;  he  had 
studied  it  carefully,  and  sketched  it  from  both 
sides,  and  he  declared  that  the  peculiarity  was 
not  in  the  hair  alone,  but  in  every  feature,  and 
that  Orsovitch  was  a  two-faced  individual.  Cer- 
tain it  was  that  the  two  portraits  which  Van  had 
drawn  in  profile,  of  the  right  and  left  sides,  bore 
no  resemblance  to  each  other,  and  would  have 
been  taken  for  entirely  different  persons,  with 
almost  opposite  mental  characteristics.  On  the 
right  side,  the  arch  in  the  forehead  was  repeated 
in  a  smaller  corresponding  curve  at  the  base  of 
30 


234  BOURBON   LILIES. 

the  nose,  which  not  unfrequently  gave  a  cynical, 
sneering  expression  to  this  view  of  his  face  ;  the 
eye  was  colder  and  sharper,  with  something  of 
distrust  in  its  keen,  clear  depths;  and  in  the 
mobile  eye-brow,  which  followed  so  easily  the 
other  leading  curves  ;  there  was  a  lurking  upward 
twitch  to  the  corner  of  the  mouth,  too,  which 
could  hardly  be  called  a  smile,  it  was  so  mechan- 
ically scornful  and  disagreeable.  The  left  side 
was  by  far  the  more  lovable  and  loving ;  there  was 
a  passionate  fire  in  the  dark  eye,  and  a  sensuous 
curve  to  the  short  chin,  which,  if  it  suggested  a 
nature  which  might  be  dangerous,  unless  held 
under  a  strong  check-rein  of  principle,  was  far 
more  pleasing  than  the  other  side.  The  two  young 
men  had  talked  OVCF  this  peculiarity  among  them- 
selves, and  Orsovitch  had  his  theory  as  to  what 
it  might  mean.  "The  unlikeness  is  not  super- 
ficial," he  would  say,  "It's  in  the  two  lobes  of 
the  brain ;  mine  are  not  identical ;  I  am  all  father 
on  one  side  and  mother  on  the  other.  I  often 
find  it  difficult  to  think  coherently,  and  have 
directly  opposing  opinions  on  the  same  subject. 
I  think  they  might  have  been  satisfied  to  disagree 
on  every  point  between  themselves,  and  not  have 
bequeathed  their  warfare  to  me  to  carry  on  during 
my  whole  life  in  my  poor  brain." 


THE  JANUS   FACE.  235 

Orsovitch's  theory  was  perhaps  a  fanciful  one, 
but  the  facts  of  his  family  history  seemed  to  bear 
him  out  in  it.  His  mother  was  an  English  lady 
of  good  family ;  as  a  girl,  she  had  been  shy, 
proud,  and  retiring.  Ersil  Orsovitch  had  met  her 
in  her  first  season  at  London,  and  had  become 
deeply  interested  in  the  pale  tall  girl,  who  dressed 
always  in  black,  with  the  exception  of  a  broad 
belt  of  light  blue,  which  drew  attention  to  her 
very  slender  figure.  Her  eyes  would  have  been 
the  same  tint  as  her  belt,  but  they  seemed  faded 
by  unshed  tears,  and  reminded  him  of  nothing 
so  much  as  frozen  sea-water,  an  indescribable 
tint  which  he  had  seen  in  the  heart  of  an  iceberg 
in  the  northern  sea.  She  was  an  iceberg  herself, 
so  cold  and  unapproachable,  with  her  Nilsson 
face  and  hair ;  but  there  was  now  and  then  an  * 
intensity  in  the  sea-blue  eyes  which  seemed  to 
hint  that  she  might  belong  to  the  class  of  wo- 
men which  Byron  describes  as  frozen  champagne, 
all  ice  without  and  fire  within.  And  Eleanor, 
with  all  the  force  of  a  compressed  nature,  loved 
the  young  Russian ;  he  was  a  noble,  and  she 
worshiped  nobility  as  something  God-given,  and 
implying  a  corresponding,  inherent  elevation  of 
character.  It  needed  only  the  first  months  of  her 
married  life  to  revolutionize  all  inbred  ideas  of 


236  BOURBON   LILIES. 

"  noblesse  oblige"  and  to  discover  that  her  idol 
was  a  self-indulgent,  unprincipled  man,  hand- 
some, fascinating,  but  lacking  completely  any 
moral  sense.  Then  all  the  fire  died  at  her  heart, 
and  she  became  ice  to  the  core ;  she  no  longer 
believed  in  any  goodness,  since  he  whom  she 
had  chosen  of  all  the  world,  as  its  representative, 
had  failed  her.  Those  who  knew  her  now,  knew 
her  as  a  bitter,  sharp-tongued,  merciless  woman, 
pitied  her  husband  the  life  she  led  him,  and 
excused  for  her  sake  the  many  consolations  which 
he  found  outside  of  his  home  life.  Into  such  a 
family  was  Orsovitch  born  ;  his  presence  seemed 
to  bring  a  new  pang  to  his  mother's  heart  but  it 
was  suffering  that  humanized,  that  awakened 
again  the  belief  in  the  possibility  of  good,  and 
with  all  the  earnestness  of  despair,  she  strove  to 
instil  right  principles  into  this  new  life.  But  even 
with  her  little  son  she  was  not  always  gentle,  and 
Orsovitch  could  remember  the  fine  scorn  with 
which  she  had  said,  having  detected  him  in  his 
first  lie,  "Poor  child,  how  can  I  expect  you  to 
have  any  idea  of  honor;  you  are  an  Orsovitch." 
Father  and  mother  had  been  fighting  within 
him  all  night.  The  paternal,  passionate,  selfish, 
unprincipled  nature  was  strong  within  him,  and 
would  not  yield  to  the  cold  scorn  and  stern  con- 


THE   JANUS   FACE.  237 

damnation  with  which  he  regarded  himself.  He 
was  arguing  in  a  circle,  and  he  went  on  wearily 
and  hopelessly  from  one  point  to  another ;  but 
he  was  growing  tired,  and  his  overtasked  brain 
refused  to  be  kept  to  the  tread-mill,  and  still  he 
groaned  for  the  thousandth  time,  "  I  love  her,  I 
love  her;  but  I  cannot  marry  her  —  for  her  own 
sake  I  cannot.  She  would  never  be  received  at 
home,  she  would  be  scorned  and  slighted  by  all 
my  relatives.  Cousin  Otto  tried  the  experiment, 
and  Fifine  died  of  a  broken  heart ;  he  had  better 
have  left  her  where  he  found  her,  the  merry  little 
actress  at  the  Gaiete.  But  I  can't  leave  Eulalie. 
I  love  her,  and  then  I  have  compromised  her  ;  I 
owe  it  to  her  to  shield  her  from  the  consequences 
of  my  thoughtlessness.  If  I  explained  this  view 
of  it  to  mother,  perhaps  she  would  take  my  part, 
and  say  that  at  last  an  Orsovitch  had  some  idea 
of  honor.  But  no,  it  would  be  too  much  to  ask ; 
she  worships  rank  more  than  any  of  our  family,  — 
it  is  always  so  with  women  who  marry  into  noble 
families.  If  I  were  only  an  American  like  Van, 
I  would  take  her  where  no  thought  of  caste  had 
come  or  ever  could  come.  But  I  should  have  to 
take  her  away  from  myself  then.  I  have  argued 
myself  down,  and  proved  the  absurdity  of  such 
notions  a  dozen  times,  but  to  no  purpose.  I  am 


238  BOURBON  LILIES. 

an  aristocrat  by  birth,  and  the  old  leaven  remains. 
My  father  would  solve  the  question  for  me  so 
easily.  How  happy  we  could  be  together  in  the 
villa  Adeline ;  Dupinceau  would  sell  it  to  me,  my 
father  would  furnish  me  the  money  for  the  sake 
of  vexing  my  mother,  and  we  could  shut  out  the 
entire  world.  What  need  of  being  married  ?  I 
have  known  plenty  of  fellows  who  lived  so,  but 
some  way  I  never  envied  them ;  I  always  won- 
dered what  they  did  with  their  consciences,  and 
what  sort  of  mothers  they  had.  Would  Eulalie 
consent  ?  Of  course  she  would,  and  there  is  no 
need  of  considering  her  yet ;  I  am  thinking  only 
of  myself.  Am  I  willing  that  Eulalie  should  make 
such  a  sacrifice  for  me  ?  What  was  it  Van  was 
singing  the  other  day?  — 

'  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honor  more.' 

Then  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  is  that 
I  must  give  her  up.  This  would  be  your  way, 
mother,  and  you  were  always  right ;  then  I  must 
leave  Ecouen  directly  and  go  to  you,  for  I  am  as 
weak  as  a  little  child." 

Tired,  overtasked  nature  had  asserted  its  claims, 
and  his  long-tossed  mind  soothed  by  some  decision 
being  at  last  reached,  his  head  sank  upon  the 
table,  and  he  fell  asleep. 


THE  JANUS   FACE.  239 

He  was  awakened  by  the  opening  of  a  door, 
and  the  cool,  sweet  wind  from  the  garden  fan- 
ning his  face.  He  lifted  his  head,  and  Eulalie 
stood  before  him.  The  maligned  person  is  always 
the  last  to  hear  a  slander,  and  she  had  come  as 
usual  to  pose.  She  did  not  notice  Orsovitch  at 
first  in  his  shaded  corner,  and  she  stood  before 
the  little  bookcase,  running  over  the  titles  of  the 
volumes,  until  Orsovitch  rose,  saying,  "Is  that 
you,  Eulalie?" 

Both  were  startled,  and  there  was  an  awkward 
pause.  "  I  thought  I  was  quite  alone,"  said 
Eulalie ;  "  are  you  ready  for  me  to  sit  now  ? " 

"  I  shall  not  need  to  have  you  pose  any  more, 
Eulalie,"  replied  Orsovitch ;  "  I  am  disgusted 
with  my  picture,  and  mean  to  destroy  it.  Besides, 
I  do  not  know  whether  you  are  aware  of  the  fact 
or  not,  but  La  Gazette  knows  in  some  way  of 
your  posing  for  us,  and  is  determined  to  make 
trouble,  so  perhaps  you  had  better  not  come 
again  for  some  time." 

Eulalie  trembled,  and  supported  herself  with  a 
chair.  "Thank  you,  M.  Orsovitch,  for  your 
warning,"  she  said  with  white  lips,  "but  I  am 
afraid  it  comes  too  late,  if  La  Gazette  has  begun 
to  spread  reports." 

Orsovitch  crossed  the  room  impulsively.    "  Eu- 


240  BOURBON   LILIES. 

lalie,  my  poor  child,  I  would  give  my  life  to  serve 
you  ;  promise  me  that  if  you  are  in  any  trouble 
you  will  call  upon  me." 

"Thank  you,  m'sieu,"  she  said  simply;  "but  I 
do  not  see  how  you  can  help  me ; "  and  then,  as 
what  this  might  lead  to  dawned  upon  her,  she 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Eulalie,"  said  Orsovitch  hoarsely,  and  all  the 
battle  which  he  had  so  hardly  fought  and  fancied 
won  but  a  little  while  before,  was  lost  upon  him. 
"  Eulalie,  trust  it  all  to  me ;  we  will  go  far  awa> 
from  this  evil-speaking  town.  No  trouble  shall 
ever  come  to  you  any  more.  Eulalie,  I  love 
you." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

LA   GIROUETTE. 

She  was  not  fair,  nor  full  of  grace, 
Nor  crowned  with  thought,  or  aught  profound ; 

Nor  wealth  had  she,  of  mind  or  face, 
Yet  won  she  love  from  all  around. 

ADAPTED  FROM  BARRY  CORNWALL. 

V\  7AS  it  the  indigestibility  of  a  French  dinner 
of  game,  eaten  at  a  very  late  hour,  or  the 
unaccustomed  honor  of  sleeping  in  a  real  chateau 
belonging  to  a  real  duke,  that  kept  Van  awake 
the  next  night  ?  It  might  have  been  either,  or 
both,  but  he  gave  all  the  blame  to  the  girouette. 

He  should  have  slept  well,  for  he  had  followed 
the  hounds  all  day  on  a  hard  trotter,  and  came  in 
at  the  death  next  behind  the  gamekeeper  as  he 
raised  his  hat  in  signal  to  the  duke  that  his  pack 
of  twenty  hounds  were  on  the  boar,  and  those  of 
the  Comte  de  Joyeuse  leaping  the  gate  to  join 
them ;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  his  physical  fatigue,  he 
lay  awake  the  greater  part  of  the  night  listening 
V  (241) 


242  BOURBON   LILIES. 

to  a  rusty  weathercock  that  flapped  and  creaked, 
banged  and  grated,  in  the  wind  above  his  head. 
It  was  as  if  St.  Michael  were  contending  again 
with  his  highness  the  Prince  of  the  Power  of  the 
Air,  and,  on  taking  a  last  look  at  the  chateau,  as 
he  left,  he  was  not  surprised  to  see  that  the 
girouette  was  in  the  shape  of  a  dragon,  with 
cloven  tongue,  scaly  wing,  and  barbed  tail.  If  he 
had  believed  in  ghosts,  he  would  have  thought 
that  old  Sir  Jehan  himself,  Chevalier  of  the 
Toison  d'Or,  one  of  the  duke's  remotest  ancestors, 
was  lamenting  his  infamous  life  in  groans  and 
shrieks  over  the  spot  where  once  he  rioted  in 
luxury  and  sin. 

Morning  came  at  last.  Van  was  packing  his 
portmanteau,  after  dressing,  when  a  small  parrot 
fluttered  through  the  open  window  and  eyed  him 
curiously  from  the  back  of  a  chair.  It  was  of  a 
soft  dove  color,  with  a  dash  of  scarlet  upon  each 
wing,  as  though  the  bird  had  been  transfixed  by 
an  arrow,  and  blood  had  left  its  stain  on  either 
side.  Almost  at  the  same  moment  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  door ;  a  modest  little  woman,  in  a 
maid's  cap  and  apron,  entered,  and  with  an 
"  Excusez,  m'sieu,"  attempted  to  catch  the  parrot. 
Then  it  was  that  the  bird  seemed  endowed  of  the 
very  spirit  of  evil.  Now  it  wheeled  slowly  around 


LA  GIROUETTE.  243 


the  room,  almost  within  reach  of  the  patient 
maid,  and,  just  as  her  hand  was  upon  it,  there 
was  a  whir  of  wings,  and  the  exasperating  thing 
was  perched  upon  the  top  of  the  great  wardrobe 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Here  it  com- 
menced a  remarkable  performance,  imitating  to  a 
nicety  the  sounds  of  the  girouette  of  the  night 
before.  Van  could  almost  have  thought  that  it 
was  the  parrot  itself  which  had  kept  him  awake. 

"Whir-r-r,  scree-unch,  piff,  paff,  pom.  Scree, 
scree,  SCREE  ! "  ascenda  and  diminuendo.  "  Pom, 
pom,  whir,  whir.  Ha  ha !  la  girouette,  la  girou- 
ette, Finnette;  Finnette,  Finnette,  la  girouette  !  " 
Finnette  was  evidently  the  name  of  the  maid, 
and  calling  her  thus,  the  bird  slowly  circled  once 
more  about  the  apartment,  and  then  darted  sud- 
denly out  of  the  window,  which  they  had  neglected 
to  close.  From  this  window,  by  craning  their 
necks,  they  could  see  him  perched  upon  the 
girouette  itself,  and  rivaling  it  in  noisy  chatter. 

Finnette  with  a  courtesy  left  the  room,  and 
Van  followed  soon  after  to  thank  his  host  for  his 
hospitality,  and  to  bid  him  adieu.  He  was  not  to 
return  to  Ecotien  that  morning,  intending  to 
profit  by  his  proximity  to  Auvers,  to  pay  a  visit 
to  Daubigny,  of  whose  lovely  landscapes,  and 
placid  river  views,  with  gleam  of  glancing  sail 


244  BOURBON  LILIES. 

and  nestling  village,  he  was  already  an  enthusi- 
astic admirer.  The  duke  was  aware  of  his  intention 
and  had  commissioned  one  of  his  valets  to  drive 
him  over.  A  charming  drive  it  was,  for  their 
way  lay  for  a  long  distance  through  the  hunting- 
grounds  of  the  duke,  an  ancient  forest  whose  huge 
trees  had  known  his  grandfather,  and,  it  may  be, 
ancestors  still  further  back.  Adolph  Jean  Joseph, 
seated,  a  la  postilion,  behind  Van,  managed  the 
reins  from  over  his  head.  He  was  a  talkative 
fellow,  lacking  the  customary  reserve  of  liveried 
servants,  and  seeming,  on  the  contrary,  to  think 
it  incumbent  upon  himself  to  interest  his  master's 
guest.  Van  began  the  conversation  by  speaking 
of  the  event  of  the  morning.  "  Ah !  that  is  a 
long  story,"  replied  the  valet. 

"  I  am  always  ready  for  a  story,"  said  Van,  and 
Adolph  Jean  Joseph  began  : 

"There  is  a  girouette,  exactly  similar  to  that 
one,  on  the  other  wing  of  the  chateau,  where  the 
servants'  rooms  are,  Fifteen  years  ago  Jerome 
occupied  the  room  directly  under  it.  Jerome  was 
the  coachman,  and  he  was  in  love  with  Finnette, 
who  was  a  pink -cheeked  young  girl  then,  just 
such  an  one  as  to  set  a  fellow  like  Jerome  wild 
with  despair;  for  though  affianced  to  him  she 
would  coquette  with  the  other  boys.  A  coach- 


LA   GIROUETTE.  245 


man  and  footman  rarely  get  along  well  together, 
and  the  duke's  footman  at  the  time  was  a  re- 
markably handsome  man  :  he  wore  his  mustache 
always  waxed  and  perfumed,  and  he  was  really 
more  distingut  than  the  duke,  and  he  had  eyes 
which  no  woman  could'resist  I  don't  remember 
what  his  real  name  was,  we  always  called  him 
Coq-a-bel-ceil.  He  was  a  new  servant  at  the 
chateau,  but  he  had  not  been  there  two  days 
before  there  was  trouble  between  Jerome  and 
Finnette.  One  morning  Jerome  came  down  late 
to  coffee  in  the  servant's  hall,  and  when  he  came, 
he  did  not  look  as  if  he  had  slept  a  wink  the 
whole  night.  Coq-a-bel-oeil  said  hypocritically, 
that  he  hoped  there  was  nothing  troubling  his 
mind ;  whereupon  Jerome  told  him  to  make  his 
dear  sympathetic  heart  easy,  as  it  was  only  the 
girouette  which  had  kept  him  awake. 

"  '  The  girottette  ! '  says  Coq-a-bel-oeil,  '  I  don't 
think  it  very  complimentary  to  Ma'm'zelle  Fin- 
nette to  call  her  such  a  name  as  that.'  And 
then  the  other  servants  laughed,  and  the  laundry 
maid,  who  was  jealous  of  Finnette,  said  that  it 
was  a  very  good  name  for  her  after  all,  for  she 
never  knew  her  own  mind,  and  was  always  carried 
away  by  whatever  wind  happened  to  blow. 

"  '  She  won't  be  troubled  by  breezes  from  my 


246  BOURBON  'LILIES. 

quarter  any  longer,'  says  Jerome,  'for  I  am 
going  to  America;'  with  that  he  left  the  room 
and  walked  straight  over  to  the  library,  where 
Monsieur  le  Due  was,  and  gave  up  his  situation. 
We  all  sat  stunned  with  astonishment,  all  but 
Finnette ;  she  turned  white  as  death,  and  ran  out 
and  waited  at  the  library  door  until  Jerome  ap 
peared.  Then  she  caught  him  by  the  arm,  but 
he  would  not  let  her  speak,  but  shook  her  off, 
saying  that  he  had  no  need  of  a  girouette,  and 
then  strode  down  the  avenue  to  the  road  leading 
to  Paris.  M'sieu  is  from  America,  is  he  not  ? " 

"Yes,"  Van  replied,  "Boston." 

"  Then  m'sieu  may  have  met  Jerome,  for  we 
heard  afterward  that  he  sailed  the  next  week  for 
Valparaiso.  Are  the  two  towns  near  each  other  ? " 

"  Not  very  ;  but  is  that  all  of  the  story  ?  Was 
Finnette  true  to  her  lover  ? " 

"  Yes,  she  was  true  to  him  ;  she  waited  and 
waited,  and  nearly  cried  her  eyes  out,  for  four 
months,  and  then  she  married  Coq-a-bel-oeil.  But 
the  marriage  was  not  a  happy  one.  He  was  at 
Paris  a  great  deal,  and  Finnette  grew  suspicious, 
and  set  some  one  to  watch  him.  It  turned  out 
that  he  had  a  wife  and  two  children  there  already. 
Well,  the  due  was  angry,  for  Finnette  was  a 
favorite  of  his,  and  he  turned  Coq-a-bel-oeil  off, 


LA  GIROUETTE.  247 


quick  enough,  I  can  tell  you.  Then  Finnette 
was  free  to  do  as  she  pleased,  for  the  marriage 
was  not  a  legal  one,  as  the  other  woman  had  the 
first  claim.  It  was  just  the  same  as  if  she  had 
not  been  married  all,  and  she  consoled  herself 
by  marrying  the  valet-de-chambre.  He  was  a 
dapper  little  fellow,  who  had  been  a  very  fashion- 
able hairdresser  at  Paris.  He  would  charge 
twenty-five  francs  for  placing  a  camellia  in  a 
lady's  hair,  and  one  had  to  pay  for  the  camellia 
besides  ;  but  then  the  flower  was  nothing,  it  was 
Alphonse's  touch  which  gave  it  the  style.  He  was 
the  rage,  and  it  was  a  common  thing  to  see  ladies 
of  high  rank  drive  up  to  his  door,  merely  to  have 
him  look  at  their  heads,  and  say  they  were  all  right 
before  going  to  the  opera.  The  duchess  declared 
that  he  was  a  real  artist,  and  said  no  one  could  do 
her  hair  like  Alphonse ;  so  the  duke  paid  him  a 
high  price  to  come  to  the  chateau  and  devote 
himself  exclusively  to  her  ladyship.  It  was  quite 
a  step  up  in  the  world  when  Finnette  married 
him,  and  we  were  mightily  taken  aback,  I  assure 
you.  The  duchess  would  sit  in  her  wrapper  in 
her  own  room,  and  wait  while  Alphonse  did  her 
hair  in  another  part  of  the  chateau.  It  was  very 
curious  to  see  him  at  work ;  he  had  a  head  made 
of  wood  and  wax  and  papier-mache,  of  the  same 


248  BOURBON  LILIES. 

size  as  that  of  the  duchess,  and  Alphonse  would 
stand  it,  with  all  sizes  of  combs  stuck  into  his 
own  blonde  curls,  which  he  would  take  out  (the 
combs,  I  mean)  and  use  as  he  wanted  them.  He 
kept  the  different  braids  and  curls  and  chignons 
under  lock  and  key  in  one  little  chest  of  drawers, 
and  the  gold-dust,  perfumes,  and  pomades  in 
another.  Finnette  would  take  out  what  he 
ordered,  heat  his  irons  for  him,  or  run  down 
to  the  conservatory  for  a  certain  flower,  or  over 
to  madame's  room  for  an  aigrette,  with  a  diamond 
clasp,  for  he  would  call  for  her  jewels  as  though 
they  were  his  own.  Finally,  when  the  whole 
work  of  art  was  completed,  Finnette  would  take 
it  and  place  it  on  the  head  of  the  duchess,  and 
Alphonse  would  simply  walk  twice  around  her  to 
see  if  the  effect  was  all  right,  and  then  tell  her 
what  style  of  dress  she  must  wear  with  it.  He 
had  her  arranged  with  a  view  to  cherry  satin  one 
day,  but  the  duchess  had  a  funeral  to  attend. 
When  she  told  Alphonse,  he  considered  it  neces- 
sary to  take  the  entire  structure  to  pieces,  and 
arrange  a  coiffure  in  another  style.  The  duchess 
was  late,  and  arrived  at  the  door  of  the  Madeleine 
just  as  the  procession  was  leaving  it,  but  she  had 
the  satisfaction  of  having  her  hair  dressed  a  la 
sympathie  particulttre,  —  indeed,  had  it  been  a 


LA  GIROUETTE.  249 


shade  more  severe,  she  would  have  been  taken 
for  the  widow,  and  the  dead  man  himself  could 
not  have  demanded  more  sincere  mourning  than 
that.  It  was  the  easy  access  that  Alphonse  had 
to  madame's  jewels  that  caused  the  trouble  be- 
tween him  and  Finnette,  for  Finnette  was  an 
honest  girl,  and  when  he  told  her  that  the  diamonds 
which  madame  now  wore  with  so  much  pride  were 
paste,  and,  showing  her  the  real  ones  hidden  at 
the  bottom  of  one  of  his  little  pots  of  pomade, 
proposed  that  they  should  run  off  together,  why, 
Finnette  could  not  stand  it,  and  informed  upon 
him,  and  Alphonse  was  sent  to  the  Bagne  for  life. 
Then  Finnette  was  as  good  as  a  widow,  but  she 
shook  her  head,  and  said  that  she  had  had  enough 
of  young  men.  There  were  but  two  old  men  at 
the  chateau,  —  the  head  waiter  and  the  butler,  — 
and  when  they  heard  that  Finnette  had  said  that, 
they  were  both  at  her  feet. 

"The  butler  was  the  best  natured,  but  the 
head  waiter  was  a  man  of  such  consequence, 
and  always  wore  such  a  nicely  brushed  up  black 
suit,  with  a  spotless  white  tie  and  gloves,  that 
with  his  grey  hair  carefully  brushed  over  his  bald 
head,  he  was  quite  irresistible.  He  always  an- 
nounced dinner,  too,  with  such  an  air :  '  Madame 
est  servie  ;  '  and  then  he  would  give  a  flirt  to  the 
32 


250  BOURBON  LILIES. 

napkin  under  his  arm,  and  sink  gradually  back 
into  the  heels  of  his  slippers  from  which  he  had 
risen ;  and  no  one  —  no,  not  even  if  he  were  a 
member  of  the  Institute — dared  resume  his  con- 
versation until  the  head  waiter  had  tiptoed  out 
of  the  room.  So,  of  course,  Finnette  married 
him,  and  —  " 

"  But,  Adolph  Jean  Joseph,"  Van  interrupted. 
"  I  thought  divorce  was  hard  to  get  in  France, 
and  this  makes  Finnette's  third  living  husband ; 
how  was  it  managed  ? " 

"  Why,  m'sieu,  when  Finnette  was  married  to 
Coq-a-bel-ceil,  it  was  at  the  parish  church,  and 
at  the  Mairie,  too,  a  double  marriage,  such  as 
nearly  all  French  marriages  are.  But  when  it 
was  ascertained  that  Coq-a-bel-ceil  had  a  wife 
already,  both  records  were  written  over,  scratched 
out,  pasted  together,  torn  out,  and  burned  up. 
Then  when  she  married  Alphonse,  there  was  no 
priest  at  the  little  church,  and  so  the  ceremony 
took  place  at  the  Mairie  only.  But  when  she 
went  there  the  third  time  with  the  head  waiter, 
Monsieur  the  Maire  said  that  it  was  indeed  a  hard 
case,  since  Alphonse  was  at  the  galleys  for 
life,  not  to  let  her  marry  again,  but  he  did  not  see 
around  it.  Now,  the  head  waiter  thought  he 
did ;  he  was  an  Alsatian  and  a  Calvinist,  and  he 


LA  GIROUETTE.  251 


took  her  to  his  country,  where  they  were  married 
in  a  Protestant  chapel,  and  no  questions  asked. 
And  a  hard  time  she  had  of  it  afterward,  for  he 
was  so  cranky  and  set  in  his  ways,  that  there 
was  no  pleasing  him,  do  what  she  might,  and  then 
he  would  swear  at  her  so  horribly,  that  at  last  the 
poor  girl  could  stand  it  no  longer.  So  she  told 
her  confessor,  and  he  said  that  as  the  ceremony 
had  only  been  performed  in  a  Protestant  chapel 
it  was  as  good  as  no  marriage  at  all,  and  she 
might  marry  the  butler  that  night  if  she  chose, 
which  Finnette  accordingly  did.  Now,  it  is  not 
at  all  convenient  to  have  two  husbands  at  the 
same  time,  especially  when  they  both  live  in  the 
same  house.  And  if  the  head  waiter  was  dis- 
agreeable before  they  separated,  he  was  ten  times 
worse  now.  He  would  keep  calling  for  all  kinds 
of  wine  just  in  the  places  where  you  would  least 
expect  them ;  claret  with  fish,  and  carcassone 
with  the  roast;  champagne  with  the  soup,  and 
liquors  before  the  entremets  were  served.  Now, 
the  butler,  though  he  was  very  fond  of  Finnette, 
usually  made  it  a  point  to  be  drunk  about  dinner 
time,  and  of  no  service  whatever ;  and  as  Finnette 
dared  trust  the  keys  of  the  wine-cellar  with  no 
one  else,  she  would  have  to  plod  up  and  down 
those  stairs  twenty  or  thirty  times  of  an  evening. 


BOURBON   LILIES. 


The  thing  got  to  be  unbearable  ;  it  turned  out, 
too,  that  this  marriage  was  not  exactly  legal,  for 
she  had  only  been  wedded  to  him  by  the  priest, 
and  Alphonse's  was  the  last  name  that  appeared 
with  hers  on  the  books  of  M.  the  Maire.  Now, 
as  good  luck  would  have  it,  Alphonse  was  shot  by 
a  guard  while  attempting  to  escape  from  the 
galleys,  and  the  certificate  of  this  being  shown 
at  the  Mairie  in  black  and  white,  Finnette  was 
very  readily  married  to  the  gamekeeper,  who  had 
long  been  in  love  with  her,  and  went  to  live  with 
him  at  the  lodge.  As  rn'sieu  says,  divorce  is  hard 
to  get  in  France  ;  we  have  too  much  respect  for 
marriage.  Finnette  was  never  divorced  in  her 
life,  she  would  not  have  done  anything  so  dis- 
graceful. She  really  liked  the  butler  ;  he  was  a 
good,  fatherly  old  man,  with  a  jolly  face,  and  a 
great  shock  of  white  hair  ;  and,  though  he  was  an 
habitual  drunkard,  he  always  treated  her  kindly, 
even  in  his  drink.  He  never  saw  her  without 
crying,  and  calling  on  all  the  saints  to  bless  her, 
for  he  knew  that  it  was  not  her  fault,  and  that 
she  would  never  have  left  him  if  the  head  waiter 
had  not  madg  it  so  uncomfortable  for  her.  Bap- 
tiste,  the  gamekeeper,  loved  her  to  distraction, 
and  things  went  'on  smoothly  for  several,  years, 
and  poor  Finnette  began  at  last  to  take  some 
comfort  in  life. 


LA  QIROUETTE.  253 


"Then  came  the  cold  winter  of  18 — ;  how  it 
did  snow  !  Fichtre  !  nothing  like  it  was  ever  seen 
in  France,  —  it  snowed  so  that  those  ditches  were 
even  with  the  road." 

As  Adolph  Jean  Joseph  spoke,  he  pointed  to 
a  deep  trench  some  eight  feet  wide,  which  encir- 
cled the  park  to  keep  the  game  within  limits. 

"The  worst  night  of  all  was  the  loth  of  Jan- 
uary. I  had  gone  to  the  village  for  the  mail,  and 
though  I  rode  the  duke's  fastest  mare,  Grisette, 
the  one  that  won  the  race  at  Longchamps,  and 
put  her  through  her  best  paces,  both  my  ears 
were  frozen  before  I  reached  the  chateau.  '  This 
is  a  terrible  night  for  any  poor  wretch  of  a 
poacher  who  may  be  out  trespassing,'  I  said,  '  the 
cold  will  kill  him  quicker  than  a  shot  from  Bap- 
tiste's  gun.'  How  the  girouette  did  clatter  that 
night !  it  shrieked  and  howled  like  a  lost  spirit. 
I  had  slept  in  Jerome's  room  ever  since  he  went 
away,  and  had  the  full  benefit  of  its  noise,  but  I 
never  heard  it  go  on  as  it  did  that  night.  The 
next  morning,  while  we  were  all  in  the  servants' 
hall  together,  "before  separating  for  the  day's  work, 
Baptiste  came  running  in,  all  out  of  breath  with 
wading  through  the  snow.  '  Come  down  quick, 
some  of  you,'  says  he,  'there's  a  man  at  the 
lodge  who,  I  am  afraid,  is  frozen  to  death,  but  we 


254  BOURBON  LILIES. 

must  do  what  we  can  to  bring  him  to;  I  don't 
think  he  is  a  poacher,  for  I  did  not  find  any  gun 
near  him.  More  likely  he  is  a  traveler,  who  lost 
the  road,  and  fell  into  one  of  the  ditches,  for  that 
was  where  I  found  him,  half  covered  with  the  snow. 
He  was  dressed  like  a  sailor,  and  much  too  thinly 
to  stand  the  cold  of  a  night  like  the  last.1  When 
we  entered  the  lodge,  we  were  all  surprised  to 
see  Finnette  lying  on  the  floor  in  a  faint  at  the 
foot  of  the  lounge  on  which  the  dead  man  lay, 
for  he  was  dead,  poor  fellow,  and  all  our  restora- 
tives, applied  for  hours,  brought  no  signs  of  life. 
When  Finnette  came  to  herself,  she  crept  to  the 
lounge,  and,  seizing  the  dead  man's  hand,  cried 
out,  '  Jerome,  Jerome,  forgive  me !  oh,  forgive 
me  ! '  We  thought  she  was  out  of  her  head,  for 
time  and  trouble  had  so  changed  him  that  it  was 
some  time  before  we  recognized  our  old  comrade, 
Jerome.  And  then  came  the  strangest  part  of 
all.  Finnette  said  that  while  Baptiste  was  gone 
to  the  chateau,  and  she  was  trying  to  bring 
Jerome  to  life,  not  having  yet  recognized  him 
herself,  a  voice  not  Jerome's,  or  any  that  she  had 
ever  known,  called  her  by  name.  While  she 
looked  at  him  in  horror  to  see  whence  the  sound 
came,  for  his  lips  were  closed,  the  same  voice, 
coming  straight  from  the  dead  man's  breast, 


LA  GIROUETTE.  255 


repeated  his  last  words  to  her  so  many  years 
before,  calling  her  a  girouette.  We  were  certain 
that  Finnette  was  crazy  now,  when  suddenly, 
not  from  Jerome's  breast,  but  from  somewhere 
in  the  air  above  our  heads,  came  a  wild  discordant 
cry,  and  a  voice  shrilling,  '  Finnette,  Finnette, 
la  girouette?  Ah  !  m'sieu  should  have  seen  the 
rapidity  with  which  we  left  that  room  !  And  not 
one  of  us  would  go  back  until  the  priest  came  to 
bury  Jerome,  and  sprinkled  the  door  with  holy 
water.  Then  we  found  perched  on  the  stag's 
antlers  above  the  fire-place,  that  little  grey  par- 
rot. It  had  been  in  the  breast  of  Jerome's  jacket, 
but  was  only  numbed  by  the  cold,  and  the  warmth 
of  the  room  had  revived  it.  In  his  bitterness,  he 
had  taught  it  those  reproachful  words,  and  had 
brought  it  here  to  haunt  Finnette.  Baptiste 
wanted  to  kill  it,  but  she  would  not  let  him,  and, 
strange  to  say,  she  took  a  great  fancy  to  the  dia- 
bolical bird.  She  never  had  any  children,  and  she 
loves  that  little  demon  as  if  it  were  her  own  baby. 
But  she  could  not  bear  the  hunting  lodge  any 
longer,  it  recalled  Jerome  too  vividly.  Strange, 
but  I  believe  the  woman  even  now  loves  the  man 
she  was  to  have  married,  better  than  any  she 
afterward  did.  Monsieur  the  Cure*  was  right, 
when  he  said  at  the  time  he  married  us,  '  Mulier 
hominis  confusio  est.'  " 


256  -  BOURBON  LILIES. 

"What,  Adolph  Jean  Joseph  !  "  Van  exclaimed, 
"you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  married  Fin- 
nette  !  Why,  you  are  a  mere  boy." 

"  Certainly,  sir,  you  see  I  had  to  take  my  turn. 
Baptiste  was  shot  by  a  near-sighted  nobleman, 
who  took  him  for  a  stag,  and  this  time  Finnette 
was  a  real  widow.  I  was  the  only  one  left,  and 
if  I  am  a  trifle  young,  Finnette  is  getting  old 
enough  now  to  be  steady." 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  understand,"  asked  Van, 
"  that  Finnette  married  in  turn  all  the  servants 
of  the  chateau  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,  always  excepting  those  who  were 
already  married,  and  whose  wives  lived  there 
with  them,  so  that  they  could  not  play  Coq-a-bel- 
ceil's  little  game,  and  one  other  who  was  not 
married,  a  jocky  like  myself,  and  about  my  own 
age.  Amede'e  du  Lac  used  to  say  that  he  would 
hang  himself  before  he  would  marry  her.  But  he 
was  always  a  queer  fellow.  He  joined  the  army 
after  awhile,  and  then  came  back  again,  and  is 
the  gamekeeper  at  the  old  hunting  chateau  in  the 
Foret  de  Montmorenci.  He  used  to  say  that, 
when  he  married,  he  meant  to  have  his  wife  all  to 
himself;  he  would  choose  some  one  who  had 
never  loved  any  one,  and  whom  no  one  had  ever 
loved,  and  when  once  his  wife,  it  should  go  hard 


LA  GIROUETTE.  257 


with  him  and  her  if  he  did  not  keep  her  as  true 
Vo  himself  as  he  meant  to  be  to  her.  But  then 
Amedee  always  did  have  the  most  lunatic  ideas 
of  any  mortal  living ;  he  never  will  be  married  at 
all,  that  is  how  it  will  be ;  or  if  he  is,  he  will  be 
most  beautifully  fooled.  Women  are  all  alike, 
and  you  might  go  many  a  mile  and  not  find  a 
sweeter  or  better  than  my  little  Finnette." 

For  a  moment  the  same  question  flitted  through 
Van's  mind  that  troubled  the  Pharisees  of  old : 
"  Whose  wife  shall  she  be  in  the  resurrection,  for 
the  seven  had  her  to  wife  ? "  And  then  his 
thoughts  went  back  to  Am6de"e.  He  had  found 
at  last  the  key  to  his  jealous,  suspicious  nature. 
Surely  no  woman  was  better  qualified  to  satisfy 
his  exacting  temperament  than  Eulalie,  and  yet 
he  remembered  the  story  of  Desdemona,  told  by 
one  who  knew  well  all  human  moods,  and  whose 
personations  were  never  overdrawn,  and  he  trem- 
bled for  the  result. 


33 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A    LESSON    IN    HERALDRY. 

Now  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen  of  France, 
Charge  for  the  golden  lilies. 

MACAULAY. 

All  the  Foresters  of  Flanders,  mighty  Baldwin  Bras  de  Fer, 
Lyderick  de  Bucq  and  Cressy,  Philip,  Guy  de  Dampierre. 

LONGFELLOW. 

TT  was  the  same  temptation  placed  before 
Eulalie  that  Mere  Angelique  had  faced  in  her 
youth,  only  in  the  present  case  Eulalie  had  the 
advantage  of  not  loving  the  tempter,  and  she 
answered  resolutely,  "  But  monsieur  forgets  that 
t  belong  to  Amede"e ;  he  has  not  given  me  up, 
and  I .  cannot  desert  him  ;  "  and  then,  before 
Orsovitch  could  speak,  as  though  fearing  new 
arguments,  she  asked,  "  Is  M.  Van  in  ?  Here  is 
his  history;  I  had  learned  a  long  lesson,  t  and 
hoped  to  recite  it  to  him  ;  will  you  tell  him  how 
sorry  I  am  I  may  not  ever  see  him  again  ? "  and 
Orsovitch  was  almost  sure  there  were  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

(258) 


A   LESSON  IN   HERALDRY.  259 

"  What  is  this  little  packet  ? "  he  asked. . 

"That  is  the  watch  which  you  asked  me  to 
bring ;  Uncle  Paquerette  will  call  for  it  in  a  few 
days.  It  is  very  curious,  is  it  not? " 

Orsovitch  had  taken  off  the  wrappings,  and,  to 
hide  his  feelings  and  gain  time,  was  examining 
the  quaint  object.  It  was  of  gold,  not  large,  but 
quite  thick,  almost  spherical  in  shape,  a  lady's 
watch,  with  the  name  Marie  de  Bucq  engraved 
indistinctly  upon  it. 

"  She  was  probably  my  grandmother,"  said 
Eulalie,  as  Orsovitch  noticed  it.  "  That  must  be 
the  old-fashioned  way  of  spelling  the  name ;  it  is 
a  great  deal  prettier  than  ours.  Bouk !  I  never 
could  endure  it,  and  nearly  all  my  friends  call  me 
by  my  mother's  name,  De  la  Croix." 

"  It  is  not  a  French  name,"  said  Orsovitch 
thoughtfully. 

"  No,"  replied  Eulalie ;  "  grandfather  was  from 
Belgium  :  he  came  in  with  the  allies,  married  a 
French  woman,  and  remained  here.  My  father 
and  my  aunt  were  his  only  children.  Aunt  can 
remember  him  ;  she  says  that  she  thinks  he  must 
have  belonged  to  a  good  family,  but  had  broken 
with  them  for  some  reason,  as  he  never  wished  to 
go  back  to  his  home,  or  to  talk  about  it." 

Orsovitch  opened  the  watch  ;  it  seemed  to  him 


260  BOURBON   LILIES. 

almost  conclusive  proof  that  Eulalie  was  w  ;11 
descended.  How  else  could  a  simple  peasant 
have  come  in  possession  of  so  costly  an  object  ? 
The  immense  significance  of  this  little  trinket  had 
so  engrossed  him  that  he  found  himself  speaking 
as  coolly  and  rationally  to  Eulalie  as  if  he  had 
not  just  made  her  a  passionate  declaration,  and 
received  in  return  a  very  decided  negative.  As 
for  Eulalie,  the  declaration  had  startled  her,  but 
she  had  answered  it ;  M.  Orsovitch  seemed  to  be 
satisfied,  for  he  had  not  urged  the  matter  further, 
and  to  her  matter-of-fact  mind  there  seemed  to 
be  no  need  of  saying  or  thinking  any  more  about 
it.  He  was  examining  the  watch  now  through  a 
microscope.  There  was  a  coat  of  arms  engraved 
within  the  case,  supported  by  two  deer,  evidently 
the  device  of  the  De  Bucq  family ;  under  the  coat 
of  arms  was  an  inscription  so  worn  as  to  be  quite 
illegible.  "  Eulalie,"  said  he,  laying  down  the 
watch  and  glass,  and  approaching  her  again,  "will 
you  let  me  keep  this  watch  for  a  week  or  two  ? 
If  you  have  any  other  information  that  you  can 
give  me  in  relation  to  your  father's  family,  for 
Heaven's  sake  let  me  have  it.  I  feel  that  I  am  on 
the  eve  of  a  great  discovery  —  a  discovery  which 
may  place  you  in  point  of  rank  far  above  me.  I 
tell  you  this  because  it  is  fair  that  you  should 


A  LESSON  IN  HERALDRY.  26 1 

know  what  I  conjecture.  I  shall  devote  myself 
to  proving  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  these  indica- 
tions. When  I  see  you  again  I  may  have  more 
to  tell  you  ;  but  whether  you  are  a  noble  lady  or 
a  simple  peasant,  what  I  told  you  a  little  while 
ago  will  still  be  true,  —  I  love  you,  Eulalie." 

"  But  m'sieu,  m'sieu,"  began  Eulalie ;  but  it 
was  useless,  for  Orsovitch  had  thrown  his  smok- 
ing-cap  across  the  room,  and  darted  into  the  next 
apartment  for  his  coat  and  hat,  and  she  was  quite 
alone.  She  left  the  house  sadly :  what  did  his 
wild  words  mean  ?  Was  Monsieur  Orsovitch 
going  mad  ?  It  was  impossible  that  she  could  be 
any  other  than  Eulalie  the  fleuriste,  with  work 
enough  to  keep  hands  and  thought  busy,  and 
just  now  a  sore  trouble  rising  darkly  before  her, 
and  swallowing  up  all  other  feeling  in  its  shadow. 

Orsovitch  had  determined  to  take  the  watch  at 
once  to  the  office  of  heraldry  in  Paris.  What  was 
his  disgust,  therefore,  to  find  himself  confronted 
as  he  opened  his  door  by  Miss  Precosia  Pry  and 
Mr~  Norman  Saxon  Goth,  with  whom  he  had 
spoken  a  few  words  at  Papa  Robusti's. 

"  So  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear  fellah,"  was  Mr. 
Goth's  greeting,  as  he  walked  into  the  studio. 
"  Queer  old  place  this,  excessively  disagreeable 
village  ;  how  do  you  manage  to  stay  heah  ?  No 


262  BOURBON  LILIES. 

society,  you  know.  I  couldn't  stand  it,  'pon  my 
word  I  couldn't.  But,  then,  I  couldn't  stay  any- 
where, you  know.  One's  ideas  actually  get  local." 

"  Do  show  us  some  of  your  lovely  things,"  be- 
sought Miss  Pry,  and  while  Orsovitch  complied, 
he  remarked,  interrogatively,  "  You  have  been  a 
great  traveler,  Mr.  Goth  ?  " 

"Lord  bless  you,  yes,"  replied  the  other; 
"  commenced  by  going  all  over  the  United  States, 
from  Michigan  to  Louisiana,  from  Maine  to  Cali- 
fornia ;  every  State  in  the  Union,  and  every 
Territory,  except  Arizona.  Then  I  did  the  West 
Indies,  and  every  city  on  the  coast  of  South 
America ;  crossed  the  Andes  from  Peru,  and 
went  down  the  Amazon  in  a  canoe.  I  have 
visited  every  country  of  Europe ;  penetrated  as 
far  into  Africa  as  —  as  I  wanted  to  ;  been  to 
China,  India,  Australia,  Palestine,  Ceylon  and 
Madagascar,  —  " 

"Dear  me,  Mr.  Goth,"  sighed  Miss  Precosia, 
"isn't  it  about  time  you  went  to  heaven  ?" 

"Hardly,"  replied  the  imperturbable  gentle- 
man ;  "  you  see,  I  have  not  entirely  exhausted  this 
world  yet.  I  am  very  fond  of  inscriptions,  and  am 
something  of  an  expert  in  deciphering  them,  as  I 
have  learned  a  little  of  every  dead  language.  Did 
you  ever  study  cuneiform  inscriptions,  Mr.  Orso- 


A  LESSON  IN  HERALDRY.  263 

vitch  ?  They  are  very  fascinating.  I  have  sixty- 
seven  dozen  photographs  of  different  markings 
in  unknown  tongues ;  I  will  bring  them  out  next 
time  I  come,  and  read  you  my  translations  of 
them.  I  see  you  are  fond  of  bric-a-brac  —  quite  a 
handsome  collection.  I  have  a  magnificent  coffin 
of  an  Egyptian  princess,  four  thousand  years  old, 
that  I  can  spare  you,  if  you  have  any  fancy  for 
such  an  article.  You  must  excuse  me,  but  I 
couldn't  possibly  part  with  the  princess ;  she 
was  buried  in  ten  coffins,  so  I  can  easily  give 
you  one ;  it  would  make  a  very  neat  clock-case. 
I  say,  Miss  Pry,  did  I  ever  show  you  my  col- 
lection of  medals  and  crosses  that  I  have  received 
from  different  sources  for  my  discoveries.  This' 
cabinet  of  cameos  reminds  me  of  them.  There 
is  one,  nearly  as  heavy  as  a  guinea,  from  the 
Royal  Exploration,  Excavation  and  Exportation 
Society ;  and  a  badge,  made  of  seven  different- 
colored  ribbons,  from  the  Societt pour  le  Vol  des 
Monumens  Anciens." 

"  Can  you  read  Chaldee  ? "  asked  Miss  Pry. 

"  Like  a  book,"  replied  Mr.  Goth.  "  Have  you 
anything  in  the  way  of  inscriptions  to  try  me  on, 
Mr.  Orsovitch?  I  have  never  been  deceived 
yet." 

"  I  have  been  puzzling  over  something  of  the 


264  BOURBON   LILIES. 

kind  of  late,"  began  Orsovitch ;  and  then,  half 
doubting  his  impulsiveness,  "  but  I  hardly  think 
it  can  be  exactly  in  your  line.  Have  you  ever 
paid  any  attention  to  heraldry?" 

"  Can  a  duck  swim  ? "  replied  Mr.  Goth,  with 
engaging  familiarity.  "  I  have  helped  many  a 
family  trace  out  its  genealogy,  and  connected 
some  that  you  would  not  have  thought  of  with  the 
proudest  families  in  history.  There  were  the 
Weazles,  of  Titusville ;  after  they  made  their 
fortunes  in  oil,  they  applied  to  me  to  look  the 
matter  up.  '  Any  particular  preference  for  any 
particular  nation  ?'  said  I.  'Italian/  says  Mrs. 
Weazle.  '  Nothing  easier,'  said  I.  And  before 
the  month  was  out  I  had  traced  them  back  to  a 
Marchese  di  Erminetti  of  the  sixteenth  century, — 
family  thought  to  be  extinct,  an  only  child  having 
mysteriously  disappeared  a  hundred  years  ago, 
supposed  to  have  been  kidnapped.  Perfectlv 
clear  case.  Mr.  Weazle's  grandfather  way  ap 
prenticed  to  an  Italian  plaster  of  Paris  image 
man ;  here  was  my  missing  link,  and  I  froze  to  it 
Traveled  in  Italy  for  them,  found  the  Erminetti 
palazzo,  bought  it  for  them,  and  made  twenty-five 
hundred  dollars  clear  of  traveling  expenses  by 
the  operation.  Should  be  happy  to  serve  you  in 
the  same  way,  sir." 


A  LESSON  IN  HERALDRY.  267 

Orsovitch  smiled.  "I  have  no  need  of  any- 
thing of  the  kind  for  myself,"  said  he,  "but  I 
have  an  old  curiosity  here  belonging  to  a  friend. 
It  bears  a  coat-of-arms  which  we  cannot  make 
out  If  you  will  decipher  it  for  me,  I  shall  be 
much  obliged." 

Mr.  Goth  examined  the  watch  with  the  eye  of 
a  connoisseur.  "  It  only  needs  the  application  of 
a  little  acid,"  said  he,  "  to  become  perfectly 
legible.  You  can  tell  now  that  the  motto  is 
Latin ;  here  is  a  dative  in  ibus,  and  there  on  the 
shield  a  fleur  de  Us.  Let  me  take  it  to  my  room 
at  the  hotel  for  half  an  hour,  and  I  will  return 
with  it  afterward ;  or,  if  you  are  in  the  village, 
you  will,  perhaps,  do  me  the  honor  of  passing  my 
way." 

After  his  visitors  had  left,  Orsovitch  took  up  a 
volume  entitled  Le  Blazon,  the  only  work  on 
heraldry  which  he  happened  to  possess,  and 
applied  himself  to  an  earnest  study  of  the  sub- 
ject. After  a  few  pages  he  read  the  following 
paragraph:  "  Les  fleur  de  lys  sont  les  pieces  les 
plus  nobles  de  toutes  celles  qui  se  voient  dans  les 
armoiries  fran$aises."  How  could  it  be  that  a 
Belgian  family  could  carry  the  fleur  de  lys? 

When,  in  Mr.  Goth's  rooms,  he  next  held  the 
watch,  the  inscription  was  as  plain  as  though 

freshly  cut. 

34 


264  BOURBON  LILIES. 

"  Look  at  it  attentively,"  said  Mr.  Goth,  "  and 
see  how  it  corresponds  with  the  following  descrip- 
tion, which  I  read  of  the  arms  of  a  certain  noble 
house :  '  De  France,  au  baton  de  gueles  peri  en 
bande.'" 

"  It  is  identical,"  exclaimed  Orsovitch.  "  To 
what  family  does  the  description  you  have  just 
read  belong  ? " 

"To  Prince  Conde"  de  Bourbon." 

Orsovitch  started,  —  a  princely  family ;  it  was 
beyond  belief,  and  he  was  overwhelmed.  "  And 
the  motto,"  he  said,  vaguely,  "is  the  same  as 
that  upon  the  picture  which  we  saw  upon  the 
portrait  the  other  evening,  — '  Date  manibus  lilia 
plenis /'  Now,  what  explanation  do  you  offer?  " 

Mr.  Goth  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  would 
rather  that  Orsovitch  should  have  drawn  the  con- 
clusion himself,  but,  thus  appealed  to,  he  answered, 
"  It  seems  to  me  simple  enough  :  the  watch  has 
been  the  property  of  some  member  of  the  de 
Bucq  family,  a  descendant  on  the  female  side  of 
the  Prince  de  Conde".  If  you  care  to  consult  Du 
Chesne  you  will  see  that  the  descendants  of  the 
Montmorencis  and  of  Charlotte  Montmorenci  de 
Cond6  were  connected  with  many  of  the  most 
noble  names  of  France  and  Belgium ;  this  is  on 
the  Belgian  side.  You  have,  there,  Mr.  Orsovitch, 
an  interesting  historical  souvenir  and  relic." 


A   LESSON   IN   HERALDRY.  267 

Orsovitch  sat  buried  in  thought.  He  had  so 
little  faith  in  this  man  ;  and  yet,  if  his  conclusions 
should  be  correct,  would  it  not  be  best  to  let  him 
go  and  see  if  he  could  prove  them  ?  If  he  only 
established  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  family  that 
Eulalie  was,  however  remotely,  of  gentle  blood, 
that  was  enough,  and  more  than  enough.  What 
mattered  it  to  him  whether  her  claims  were  really 
valid  ?  Mr.  Goth  seemed  waiting  for  a  reply. 
"  This  watch  belongs  to  a  lady,"  Orsovitch  began. 

".  Who  has  picked  it  up  at  the  H6tel  Drouot  ?  " 
added  Mr.  Goth  carelessly.  "  That  watch,  in  the 
hands  of  an  unscrupulous  and  ambitious  young 
woman,  would  make  her  fortune.  She  has  only 
to  swear  that  it  belonged  to  some  defunct  ances- 
tor,— some  unfortunate  tmigrt,  —  and  she  could 
easily  prove  herself  of  noble  birth.  One  can 
prove  anything,  sir ;  all  that  is  needful  is  brains, 
sir,  — brains  and  money.  'Pon  my  honor,  I  wish 
I  had  the  working  up  of  the  case." 

"  This  watch  really  did  belong  to  the  young 
lady's  ancestor,"  said  Orsovitch  gravely.  "  Do 
you  believe  that  claims  to  such  high  connection 
can  be  proved  ? " 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Mr.  Goth  mentally ;  "it  is 
Fanny  Fitz  Flirt.  Mrs.  Poser  has  found  that 
she 's  got  to  bait  the  hook  with  a  grandfather  in 


268  BOURBON  LILIES. 

order  to  catch  him.  I  wondered  what  attractions 
those  ladies  could  find  in  Ecouen.  Well,  my 
dears,  I  have  no  objection  to  helping  you,  but 
you  will  have  to  pay  dearly  for  it."  It  had  been 
Mr.  Goth's  turn  to  be  silent,  and  Orsovitch  spoke 
again  :  "  Let  us  understand  each  other,"  he  said, 
as  he  thought  of  the  searching  inquiry  to  which 
his  wife's  claims  would  be  submitted  by  his  rela- 
tives. "  What  I  wish  is  not  to  establish  a  false 
pretension  to  a  title  for  this  young  lady,  to  prove 
geese  swans,  or  weazel  skins  ermine.  I  wish  to 
get  at  the  absolute  truth  in  the  matter,  even  if  it 
should  prove  our  hopes  false." 

"  And  then,  my  dear  Miss  Fitz  Flirt  or  Mrs. 
Poser,"  thought  Mr.  Goth,  "  I  should  not  care  to 
be  in  your  shoes ; "  and  he  added  aloud,  "  I  will 
devote  myself  to  investigating  the  matter ;  but  it 
will  be  a  work  of  time,  and  it  may  also  prove  a 
rather  expensive  project." 

"That  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  Orsovitch 
loftily. 

Mr.  Goth  bowed.  "  How  very  much  in  love 
he  must  be,"  he  thought,  "  to  be  such  a  fool." 

A  similar  idea  flashed  through  the  mind  of 
Orsovitch.  "  This  is  too  wild ;  it  cannot  be 
true."  But  still  his  great  desire  to  prove  it  so 
made  him  credulous.  "  You  know  more  of  such 


A   LESSON  IN   HERALDRY.  269 

matters  than  I  do,  Mr.  Goth,"  said  he;  "only 
prove  to  my  satisfaction  that  the  owner  of  this 
watch  is  a  descendant  of  the  house  of  Montmo- 
renci  de  Conde"  de  Bourbon,  and  I  will  pay  you 
ten  thousand  francs  outside  of  all  incidental 
expenses.  I  will  accompany  you  in  order  to  be 
the  better  convinced.  If  you  are  mistaken,  I 
will  pay  your  expenses  only.  Are  you  willing  to 
undertake  the  mission  on  these  conditions  ? " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Goth,  "  and  I  may  add 
that  I  am  perfectly  sure  of  sucess." 
"  Where  do  we  go  first  ? " 
"To  Brussels." 

"  Can  you  start  this  evening  ? " 
"  I  reside  in  my  valise,  Mr.Orsovitch." 
"  Very  well,  I  will  join  you  at  the  dep6t  at  ten 
o'clock,"  and  Orsovitch  returned  to  his  studio  to 
scribble  a  note  of  explanation  to  Van,  to  dine,  and 
to  pack  his  valise. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE    LETTER    O. 

A  gipsy  in  the  wood 
Said  she'd  tell  me  something  good 
For  his  name  began  with  O. 

OLD  SONG. 

"CRANNY  Fitz  Flirt  had  not  seen  Orsovitch 
since  the  night  of  the  drive,  but  she  was 
happier  than  she  had  ever  been  before.  Orso- 
vitch certainly  liked  her ;  the  first  step  had  been 
made  when  he  had  descended  from  his  throne  of 
high  and  lofty  indifference.  She  was  an  experi- 
enced little  surgeon  in  diseases  of  the  heart,  and 
she  was  sure  that  she  recognized  the  early 
symptoms  of  a  serious  affection  of  that  organ. 
On  the  day  after  the  departure  of  Mr.  Goth  and 
Orsovitch,  she  decided  to  take  a  ramble  in  the 
wood  surrounding  the  Chateau  de  Montmorenci. 
She  had  promised  not  to  go  out  of  sight  of  the 
village,  and  Mrs.  Poser  had  reluctantly  consented 
to  her  going  alone.  She  stood  now  on  the  deserted 

(270) 


THE  LETTER  O.  2/1 


fete  ground  ;  as  she  looked  around  her  with  inter- 
est, La  Gazette  came  scrambling  up  the  hill, 
quite  out  of  breath  from  the  haste  with  which 
she  had  followed  the  young  American  lady.  She 
came  forward,  puffing  and  grimacing  frightfully 
in  her  toothless  attempt  at  a  smile.  Fanny  was 
in  doubt  whether  she  ought  to  be  frightened  or 
amused,  when  the  strange  creature  extended  a 
small  basket,  whose  contents  she  evidently  wished 
inspected.  Fanny  lifted  several  pieces  of  jet 
passementerie,  in  the  thistle-pattern,  the  work  of 
La  Gazette's  daughter,  and  several  pairs  of  stock- 
ings, worked  across  the  instep  and  about  the 
ankle  in  fanciful  designs  with  gay  colored  silks,  the 
remains  of  a  small  stock  which  she  had  offered 
for  sale  during  the  progress  of  the  fete.  Fanny, 
mindful  of  her  croquet  slippers,  purchased  two 
pairs, — one  a  light  blue,  decorated  with  daisies  and 
sprays  of  yellow  wheat,  and  another  of  maize 
color,  wreathed  with  wild  roses  and  buds.  "  What 
is  this  circle  ? "  she  asked  of  La  Gazette,  as  she 
crammed  the  stockings  into  a  tiny  silver-orna- 
mented reticule  that  swung  from  her  heavily- 
chased  belt.  She  pointed  as  she  spoke  to  the 
mark  worn  in  the  ground  by  the  merry-go-round 
which  Pere  Paquerette  had  turned  during  the 
first  part  of  the  fete. 


2/2  BOURBON   LILIES. 

La  Gazette  nodded  mysteriously.  "  I  can  see 
no  circle,  mademoiselle ;  if  there  is  one,  it  is  the 
work  of  the  fairies ;  they  dance  here  on  certain 
nights  in  the  year,  and  the  first  maiden  who 
comes  to  the  spot  on  the  morning  after  their 
revel  will  see  upon  the  ground,  traced  by  their 
feet,  the  initial  of  her  married  name." 

"Then  mine  is  to  be  O,"  laughed  Fanny  gayly. 
"I  wonder — ,"  but  as  she  spoke,  a  sudden  con- 
sciousness sent  the  color  in  a  surging  wave  to  the 
roots  of  her  hair  and  the  tips  of  her  dainty  ears.  In 
another  moment  she  was  indignant.  "  How  dare 
you  ? "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  see  that  circle  as 
well  as  I  do,"  and  she  walked  quickly  away. 

But  La  Gazette  called  after  her,  hobbling  nim- 
bly behind  the  delicate  girl,  "  Yes,  mademoiselle, 
I  see  the  circle,  and  I  see  much  besides.  We 
others  are  not  so  blind.  Fine  gentlemen  do  not 
take  fine  ladies  to  drive  on  moonlight  nights  for 
nothing.  I  used  to  pose  for  messieurs  the  artists, 
and  I  have  seen  a  painting  of  mademoiselle  all  in 
white  in  a  little  boat.  Mademoiselle  knows  how 
it  is  cherished  ?  Ah  !  when  all  this  regards  a  fine 
lady  like  mademoiselle,  it  means  something !  " 

Fanny  walked  more  slowly ;  the  words  were 
sweet,  why  should  she  not  listen  to  them  ?  She 
turned  and  faced  the  old  woman. 


THE  LETTER  O.  2/3 


"  To  speak  plainly,  then,  you  really  fancy  that 
Monsieur  Orsovitch  likes  me  ?  " 

"  He  adores  you,  mademoiselle,  —  so  much  the 
worse  for  us  others." 

"  Why  should  it  be  the  worse  for  you,  suppos- 
ing he  did  like  me  ? " 

"Not  for  me,  mademoiselle,  but  for  a  young 
girl  of  my  class.  Hold,  there  she  stands  on  the 
church  steps  ;  you  can  see  her  through  this  open 
ing  in  the  trees.  She  is  indeed  beautiful ;  but 
mademoiselle  need  not  be  alarmed,  for  when  a 
gentleman  who  is  comme  il  faut,  like  Monsieur 
Orsovitch,  marries  in  our  country,  the  old  love 
does  not  go  on  into  the  new  life,  and  mademoi- 
selle is  so  beautiful  —  " 

"Stop,"  said  Fanny  peremptorily,  "you  are 
mistaken ;  the  girl  you  just  pointed  out  to  me 
poses  sometimes  for  Mr.  Van,  for  he  showed  me 
some  pencil  sketches  he  had  made  of  her  face, 
but  I  have  looked  at  all  Monsieur  Orsovitch's 
sketches,  and  there  is  not  one  of  that  girl." 

"  If  mademoiselle  will  take  the  trouble  to  ask 
her  for  whom  she  was  posing  at  the  studio, 
yesterday  morning,  when  the  young  American 
gentleman  was  not  there.  I  was  in  the  meadow, 
digging  dandelions  for  my  rabbits.  And  if  made- 
moiselle will  ask  who  it  was  that  Monsieur 
35 


2/4  BOURBON  LILIES. 

Orsovitch  kissed  beside  his  great  window  —  I 
could  not  help  seeing,  and  I  thought  that  the 
young  American  lady  who  wears  glasses,  Made- 
moiselle Pry,  saw  also,  for  she  came  in  then,  if 
mademoiselle  will  ask  her." 

"  I  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Fanny 
decidedly  and  proudly,  but  her  face  was  deadly 
white ;  and  when  La  Gazette  disappeared  down 
the  winding  path  that  led  to  the  village,  she  still 
stood  mechanically  smoothing  the  wrinkles  out 
of  her  dress.  Such  things  were  common  here  in 
Europe.  She  would  not  have  been  surprised  or 
greatly  shocked  to  have  heard  it  of  the  marquis, 
or  of  any  other  man  in  France,  she  told  herself, 
except  only  Orsovitch.  Yes,  there  was  one  other 
of  whom  she  could  never  have  believed  such  a 
thing,  and  that  was  her  "adopted  brother  Van." 
And  yet  she  had  remarked  to  herself,  when  he 
first  showed  her  his  sketch  of  Eulalie,  that  he 
loved  this  little  peasant  more  than  he  knew.  "  If 
it  is  true,  it  is  worse  for  him  than  for  me,"  she 
said  to  herself.  Then  a  swift  thought  passed 
through  her  mind  of  the  only  time  she  had  been 
in  Eulalie's  shop,  to  order  a  basket  of  flowers  for 
Mamma  Robusti's  party.  Eulalie's  aunt  had 
teased  her  niece  about  living  in  a  castle  some 
day,  and  being  a  fine  lady,  and  had  mentioned 


THE  LETTER  O.  2/5 


a  black -haired  lover  who  was  very  imperious, 
and  for  whom  Eulalie  had  immediately  crossed 
swords  with  her  aunt.  At  the  time  Fanny  had 
imagined  that  the  lover  was  only  some  blue- 
bloused  peasant,  or  at  best  a  servant  at  the  castle, 
but  now  it  was  all  plain. 

As  she  turned  to  leave  the  forest,  and  walked 
wearily  down  the  beautiful  avenue  which  leads 
from  the  Chateau  de  Montmorenci,  she  saw  that 
a  gentleman  had  just  entered  at  the  other  end  of 
the  noble  arch  of  living  green.  He  had  recog- 
nized her,  and  was  coming  forward  with  quickened 
step,  and  a  pleased,  expectant  look  upon  his  face. 
It  was  Van,  and  she  could  not  escape  him,  though 
an  almost  ungovernable  impulse  urged  her  to 
turn  and  run  back  into  the  wood.  He  gave  his 
hapd  with  some  gay  word  of  greeting,  but  when 
he  saw  her  face  the  expression  upon  his  own 
changed  instantly.  "Are  you  sick,  Miss  Fanny  ? " 
he  asked  anxiously. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "only  troubled;  Van,"  she 
added  after  a  moment's  pause,  "you  and  I  are 
friends,  are  we  not  ? " 

"  Of  course  we  are,"  replied  Van,  "at  least  I 
am  very  sure  that  I  am  your  friend." 

"I  am  going  to  confide  in  your  friendship," 
said  Fanny,  "  and  I  want  you  to  answer  truly  a 


2/6  BOURBON  LILIES. 

few  questions,  and  never  to  tell  any  one  of  this 
conversation." 

"You  can  depend  upon  me,  little  sister," 
said  Van,  drawing  the  arm  of  the  trembling  gin 
within  his  own. 

"I  have  just  heard  to-day,"  said  Fanny,  "that 
Monsieur  Orsovitch  is  in  love  with  the  little 
milliner ;  is  it  true  ? " 

"  I  think  it  is,"  replied  Van ;  "I  have  thought 
so  for  some  time,  and  at  last  I  am  sure  of  it" 

"Is  your  friend,"  asked  Fanny  painfully,  "is 
Monsieur  Orsovitch  a  man  of  honor,  as  we  Ameri- 
cans understand  the  term  ? " 

"He  is,"  replied  Van  bravely;  "Eulalie  is 
perfectly  safe." 

"Then  there  is  a  possibility  that  he  may 
marry,  if  I — that  is,  if  nothing  should  interfere 
to  prevent" 

"  More  than  that,  Miss  Fanny,  I  have  been  led 
to  think  that  such  a  marriage  was  very  probable." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Fanny  simply,  and  then, 
moved  by  a  great  impulse  of  pity,  she  took  his 
hand  and  shook  it  warmly.  "  Poor  fellow,"  she 
thought,  '•  how  he  must  suffer,  and  yet  how 
bravely  he  stands  up  for  his  friends !  Does  he 
know  that  I  have  guessed  that  he  loves  her  too  ? " 
And  Van  pressed  the  little  hand  laid  so  con- 


THE  LETTER  O.  2/7 


fidingly  in  his,  until  the  diamond  rings  gashed 
the  slender  fingers,  and  the  delicate  four-buttoned 
kid  glove  was  quite  ruined,  while  in  his  heart  of 
hearts  he  pitied  her,  and  called  himself  a  brute 
for  telling  the  truth  so  bluntly.  "  I  used  to  wish 
I  was  handsome,"  he  said  to  himself,  "so  that  al) 
the  girls  would  fall  in  love  with  me  as  they  do 
with  Orsovitch,  but  I  don't  believe  I'm  the  sort 
of  fellow  to  enjoy  it,  after  all." 

The  way  seemed  very  clear  to  Fanny,  as  she 
walked  home.  The  only  thing  to  do  was  to  leave 
Ecouen,  and  to  leave  at  once.  It  was  hard,  too, 
to  give  up  the  battle  just  as  there  was  some  hope 
of  success.  It  would  have  been  so  much  easier, 
she  told  herself,  to  have  sent  him  back  to  Eulalie 
with  cutting  words  after  he  had  been  fairly  con- 
quered, and  had  unequivocally  declared  himself, 
but  to  give  him  up  in  this  ignominious  way  was 
not  pleasant,  and  yet  it  was  the  right  way,  and 
the  only  right  way.  There  was  a  hard  fight,  too, 
with  Mrs.  Poser,  but  Fanny  conquered,  and  a 
few  days  later  Van  received  a  note  saying  that 
the  ladies  were  called  to  America  by  a  telegram 
announcing  the  illness  of  their  father  ;  they  would 
take  Fanny's  portrait  as  it  was,  paying  the  price 
at  first  agreed,  and  they  hoped  that  some  day  Van 
might  be  able  to  finish  it  at  their  home  in  Chicago, 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

DOUBT. 

A  soul  mist,  through  whose  rifts  familiar  stars 
Beholding  we  misname. 

JEAN  INGELOW. 


PAQUERETTE  and  Eulalie  were 
wandering  in  the  meadows  together.  They 
had  been  much  in  one  another's  society  of  late, 
and  had  one  great  bond  of  sympathy.  Neither 
had  any  great  show  of  affection  from  any  other 
quarter.  So  when  Eulalie's  aunt  had  said,  "Tenez, 
animal,  you  have  not  posed  for  a  week  past,  you 
do  nothing  but  sit  in  the  sun  and  sleep  ;  take  this 
pan  and  knife  and  go  to  the  meadows  for  some 
dandelions  for  a  salad,"  Eulalie  had  risen,  too. 
"Wait  a  moment,  my  uncle,"  said  she,  "I  will 
go  with  you  ;  field  flowers  are  all  the  fashion  this 
spring,  but  the  models  they  have  sent  me  are 
so  stiff  that  I  know  I  can  find  better  ones  in  the 
fields,  —  there  will  be  buttercups,  at  least,  and  the 
rosy  -fingered  little  mtres  des  families." 

Eulalie   was   more   quiet   than   usual   as   she 

(278.) 


DOUBT.  279 

walked,  but  the  old  man  chattered  on,  filling  up 
all  pauses  in  the  conversation,  like  the  amiable  old 
magpie  that  he  was. 

"There,"  said  he,  "there  is  the  Villa  Adeline, 
and  that  always  makes  me  think  of  General 
Hautcoeur ;  what  a  grumbler  he  was,  —  always 
gruff,  always  silent.  He  never  opened  his  mouth 
except  to  growl  or  to  swear.  So  different  from 
my  father,  —  he  had  lost  almost  everything  else, 
but  he  hadn't  lost  his  tongue,  dear.  How  he 
would  run  on.  I  remember  his  showing  me  the 
flags  under  the  dome  of  the  Invalides.  '  That  one 
was  from  Eylau,  boy,'  he  would  say  ;  '  that 's 
where  my  thumb  and  two  fingers  were  frozen  off. 
Dog  of  a  country. for  cold,  that  Eylau.  And  that 
was  from  Marengo.  I  saw  my  lieutenant,  Gaston 
Bonenfant,  snatch  it  from  the  hand  of  its  color- 
bearer,  and  then  a  cannon  ball  came  along  and 
took  off  my  leg,  and  I  did  not  see  any  more. 
That  torn  rag  higher  up  was  taken  at  Austerlitz. 
My  colonel  was  killed  there.  Handsome  man, 
Louis  Charles  Chere,  how  the  women  must  have 
cried  at  Paris  when  they  heard  of  it.'  " 

Eulalie  had  heard  these  recitals  a  hundred 
times  before,  but  she  let  the  old  man  prattle  on, 
and  at  times  assisted  him  in  his  soliloquy  by 
judicious  questions.  He  was  not  dull,  however, 


280  BOURBON   LILIES. 

this  little  gimlet-eyed  old  man,  and  it  struck  him 
after  awhile  that  Eulalie  was  not  bearing  her  part 
in  the  conversation. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  child  ? "  he  said, 
suddenly.  "Are  you  in  love  ?  " 

"  No  indeed,"  replied  Eulalie  indignantly, 
while  a  hot  flame  swept  from  her  cheeks  up  to 
her  hair. 

"Well,  I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  so 
touchy  about  it,"  replied  the  other ;  "  you  are 
betrothed  now,  and  you  can  be  as  much  in  love 
as  you  please,  —  with  Amedde,  of  course,  you 
wont  have  a  right  to  fancy  any  one  else  until 
after  you  are  married." 

"  That  is  what 's  the  matter,  uncle,"  said  Eu- 
lalie, thoughtfully.  "  I  don't  believe .  I  love 
Amed6e  enough ;  and  what  if  after  we  are  mar- 
ried I  should  find  I  did  love  some  one  else,  and 
that  it'was  all  a  mistake  ?  " 

"  Some  one  else  ?  Fichtre  !  It  isn't  that  black- 
haired  artist  that  you  have  been  posing  for,  is  it  ? 
Dieu  merci!  He  left  the  village  in  the  train  the 
other  night ;  he  was  late  for  the  omnibus,  and  I 
carried  his  valise  to  the  depot.  He  looked  as  if 
he  were  in  love,  for  at  first  he  forgot  to  pay  me,  and 
then  he  gave  me  a  five-franc  piece,  and  did  not 
ask  for  any  change  ;  but  don't  tell  your  aunt.  I 


DOUBT.  28l 

took  it  straight  to  the  keeper  of  the  Esperance, 
and  told  him  to  give  me  a  bock  of  beer  every 
night  until  it  is  used  up.  Well,  he  is  gone,  and 
it  is  not  likely  that  he  will  come  back  again,  so 
you  need  not  trouble  your  head  about  him." 

"  I  like  Ame'dee  a  great  deal  better  than  M. 
Orsovitch,  uncle ;  I  could  never  feel  at  home 
with  him,"  and  as  she  spoke  the  words,  the  con- 
sciousness flashed  through  her  mind  that  there 
was  some  one  with  whom  she  did  feel  perfectly 
at  home,  though  she  looked  up  to  him  as  a  superior 
being, — kindly,  brotherly  Monsieur  Van.  Was 
the  feeling  then  love  which  she  had  for  him  ? 

"  Fichtre  f"  said  Pere  Paquerette  to  himself, 
"  she  can't  make  me  believe  that  there  is  not 
some  one,  if  she  is  not  contented  with  things  as 
they  are."  And  then  he  added  aloud,  "  Love 
always  makes  trouble,  and  if  you  and  the  Mere 
Ange"lique  hold  together,  the  two  of  you  can 
always  manage  Ame'dee,  and  there  will  be  peace 
in  the  house.  You  have  not  quarreled  with  the 
Me"re  Ange'lique,  have  you  ? " 

"  I  think  I  love  her  better  than  any  one  else  in 
the  world." 

"  Then  all  is  right  Love  between  woman  and 
woman  is  a  very  good  thing,  so  good  that  you 
seldom  find  it  out  of  heaven ;  but  between  mar- 
36 


282  BOURBON   LILIES. 

ried  people,  it  is  quite  another  thing.  Look  at 
Villa  Adeline,  yonder;  there  has  been  a -good 
deal  of  love  in  it,  but  it  always  brought  misery ; 
and  some  married  people  —  but  I  never  heard  that 
they  loved  each  other.  But,  you  know  some- 
thing of  Villa  Adeline  yourself,  for  you  used  to 
go  there  while  I  was  gardener  at  Montreuil." 

"That  was  when  Madame  la  Baronne  owned 
the  place.  I  don't  believe  she  ever  loved  any 
one  or  was  ever  very  happy.  She  had  an  idea  that 
she  wanted  her  conservatory  filled  with  artificial 
flowers.  Reinette  and  I  fitted  it  up  for  her.  I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  it,  uncle,  for  it  was  my 
chef  d' ceuvre ;  but  the  Prussians  destroyed  it  all, 
and  when  M.  Dupinceau  bought  the  place  of 
Madame  la  Baronne,  who  ran  away  to  England, 
there  was  nothing  left." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Well,  there  was  a  great  tank  in  the  middle, 
filled  with  water,  with  a  fountain  in  the  centre. 
We  put  imitations  of  aquatic  plants  there,  made 
entirely  of  rubber ;  water-lilies  with  long  tube 
stems,  and  the  petals  waxed  so  that  you  could 
not  tell  them  from  real.  I  went  to  the  Jardin 
d'  Acclamation  and  copied  some  of  the  tropical 
plants ;  some  of  them  had  huge  bright-colored 
leaves,  that  shivered  on  the  surface  of  the  water 


DOUBT.  283 

as  if  our  climate  was  too  cold  for  them.  I  made 
them  do  that,  too.  And  Reinette  was  in  her 
element  with  the  roses  ;  she  made  a  perfect  bower 
of  climbing  ones  at  the  end  of  the  conservatory, 
and  some  forty  potted  varieties.  Then  there  were 
boxes  of  Parma  violets,  mimosa,  and  other  low, 
small  flowers,  richly  perfumed,  and  a  great  bank 
of  azaleas  in  vivid  velvet.  We  worked  six  months, 
and  kept  two  foliage  makers  busy  besides.  It 
was  the  best  work  we  ever  did,  and  we  were  well 
paid  for  it,  for  Reinette  became  a  favorite  of 
Madame  la  Baronne,  who  took  her  off  to  England 
with  her  as  companion." 

Eulalie's  interest  in  her  art  had  overcome  her 
sadness,  and  she  had  talked  long  and  enthusiasti- 
cally with  Pere  Paquerette.  This  was  just  what 
the  little  man  had  wanted,  just  what  he  had 
planned,  and  so  they  kept  each  other's  hearts  up 
in  this  dull  waiting-time  of  uncertainty,  so  like 
the  fog  that  settles  down  about  a  vessel,  making 
long  and  monotonous  the  hours  that  may  be  fol 
lowed  by  some  sudden  and  terrible  disaster,  01 
the  sultry  calm  that  comes  before  the  crash  of 
the  thunderbolt. 

Amedee  felt  these  premonitions  with  less  vague 
ness  than  Eulalie.  When  he  walked  in  the 
village  the  town  talk,  which  was  hushed  when  her 


284  TOURBON  LILIES. 

innocent  face  passed  by,  burst  out  afresh,  and 
though  he  pretended  not  to  hear,  and  strode  on 
apparently  as  unconscious  and  indifferent  as 
Mees,  who  sulkily  followed  her  master  wherever 
he  went,  still  he  did  hear  and  understand  a  great 
deal  too  much.  For  awhile  he  buried  himself  in 
the  chateau,  but  his  suspicious  thoughts  were 
worse  than  the  spoken  insinuations  of  the  street, 
and  one  day  he  threw  his  velveteen  jacket  across 
one  shoulder  and  went  down  to  see  his  mother. 
He  found  her  sooner  than  he  expected.  She  had 
been  to  the  forest  to  gather  fagots,  and  was 
tottering  down  the  avenue  with  a  huge  bundle  of 
them  upon  her  shoulders.  Ame'dee  joined  her, 
and,  with  some  commonplace  greeting,  walked 
slowly  along  by  her  side.  He  did  not  offer  to 
carry  the  fagots  for  her.  The  lower  classes  in 
France  are  not  remarkably  thoughtful  or  cour- 
teous to  women ;  besides,  suffering  is  terribly 
selfish.  What  need  was  there  to  bear  her  burden 
for  her  ?  She  was  strong  and  well  preserved,  and 
carried  her  bundle  with  head  erect ;  she  was  much 
more  able  to  bear  her  burden  than  he  was  to  carry 
his. 

The  Mere  Angelique  saw  that  something  was 
amiss,  and  wisely  refrained  from  questioning; 
she  knew  that  the  way  to  her  son's  heart  was 


DOUBT.  285 

through  his  stomach,  and  soon  after  reaching 
the  gate  lodge  of  Villa  Adeline,  she  set  before 
him  a  nourishing  soup,  fresh  from  the  fire,  some 
slices  of  sausage,  bread,  an  early  salad  from  the 
garden,  some  little  sweet  cakes,  and  anisette  in  a 
glass  so  clear  and  tiny  that  it  might  have  been  a 
great  crystalized  tear.  Thus  cheered,  Amedee 
looked  up  more  manfully.  Charlotte  was  making 
a  little  garland  of  some  bits  of  artificial  flowers 
which  Eulalie  had  given  her,  and,  in  direct  imita- 
tion of  her,  was  hanging  it  around  a  rude  Renais- 
sance picture  of  the  Virgin  over  the  mantelpiece. 
As  she  worked  she  sang,  as  she  had  heard 
Eulalie,  — 

"  Dame  enclose  entre  fleurs-de-lis, 
Reine  etes  vous  de  Paradis, 
De  France,  et  de  tout  le  pays." 

"  Who  taught  you  that  song  ? "  asked  Ame'dee ; 
"  it  is  quite  pretty,  and  more  proper  for  you  to 
sing  than  those  ballads  which  you  are  so  fond  of." 

"  Oh !  I  don't  sing  ballads  any  more.  I 
have  made  my  first  communion,  and  I  am  pious, 
like  Eulalie ;  it  was  she  who  taught  it  to  me." 

The  Mere  Angelique  had  purposely  avoided 
mentioning  Eulalie' s  name,  in  the  hope  that 
Amed6e  would  himself  broach  the  subject  She 
looked  at  him  now ;  he  did  not  seem  inclined  to 
speak,  but  sat  gloomily  regarding  his  sabots. 


286  BOURBON  LILIES. 

"This  will  not  do,"  she  thought,  and  she 
added  aloud,  "Thou  wilt  never  be  like  Eulalie, 
Charlotte ;  thou  art  a  little  hypocrite,  while  she 
is  true  to  the  core,  —  a  little  too  religious,  but  a 
good  girl,  in  spite  of  her  religion.  She  never  told 
but  one  lie  in  her  life,  and  that  was  for  me." 

"What  was  it,  mother?"  asked  Amedee,  look- 
ing up. 

"  It  was  at  the  end  of  the  siege,  when  we  were 
all  shut  up  in  Paris,  and  thou  wast  away  with  the 
army..  I  was  so  sick  of  the  food  they  gave  us 
that  I  could  scarcely  eat ;  how  I  did  long  for  a 
little  salad  like  that,  or  some  fresh  radishes,  or 
cabbage,  or  spinach.  Finally  came  the  capitu- 
lation, and  Eulalie  said  to  me,  '  There  now,  I 
wager  you  a  new  cap  that  I  will  bring  something 
good  before  night  to  the  Mere  Angelique.'  So 
she  and  one  of  the  other  shop  girls  set  out 
together,  but  when  they  reached  the  barrier,  there 
was  a  Prussian  officer,  who  would  not  let  them 
pass.  They  begged  and  entreated,  but  the  man 
would  not  hear  to  them ;  he  was  civil  enough, 
too  :  '  I  am  sorry  to  refuse,  madame,'  he  said, 
'but  my  orders  are  to  let  no  one  go  out  without 
a  passport.'  '  You  '11  see  I  '11  succeed,'  says 
Eulalie  in  a  whisper  to  the  girl  who  was  with  her, 
and  with  that  she  pulls  out  her  handkerchief  and 


DOUBT.  287 

begins  to  cry.  '  O,  sir,'  says  she,  '  my  only  child 
and  I  were  separated  at  the  beginning  of  the 
siege ;  the  little  thing  was  left  sick  in  the  coun- 
try, and  I  have  not  seen  it  since.'  You  see,  she 
saw  that  he  took  her  for  a  married  woman,  and 
that  he  was  stupid  and  kind-hearted  enough  to 
be  imposed  upon.  And  she  was  quite  right  — 
the  man  is  not  living  that  could  resist  Eulalie. 
'  You  may  pass,'  said  he ;  and  the  girls  went  as 
far  as  St.  Denis,  and  here  Eulalie  bought  twenty 
cabbages,  which  were  all  the  vegetables  they  could 
find.  They  met  the  Baroness  de  Viliers  driving 
back  to  Paris,  with  the  floor  of  her  coach  covered 
with  potatoes,  and  some  of  them  lying  on  her  fine 
dress.  Everybody  who  could  get  out  was  in  the 
country,  buying  vegetables.  When  they  reached 
the  barrier,  '  Was  the  baby  well  ? '  asked  the 
officer ;  and  then,  as  he  was  off  duty,  he  offered, 
by  way  of  making  sport  of  her  cabbages,  to  carry 
her  little  package  for  her.  But  the  girls  took  him 
at  his  word,  and  came  laughing  home,  with  a  tall, 
yellow-whiskered  Prussian  carrying  the  cabbages. 
But  Eulalie's  conscience  troubled  her,  and  on  the 
way  home  she  told  him  her  trick,  and  he  did  not 
seem  at  all  angry,  but  came  in  and  talked  with 
me  a  long  while,  and  asked  leave  to  come  again, 
but  Eulalie  would  not  allow  that.  Ah  !  the  dear 


288  BOURBON   LILIES. 

child  could  not  forgive  herself  easily  for  that  decep 
tion  ;  she  burnt  I  don't  know  how  many  candles  in 
penitence,  and  would  not  touch  a  morsel  of  the 
cabbage,   though  I   cooked    them   nicely  every 
morning  with  little  sausages." 

So  Eulalie  had  lied  ;  and  what  a  coquette  she 
was,  to  be  sure,  to  be  flirting  with  Prussian  officers 
when  he  was  shedding  his  blood  at  their  hands. 
Mere  Angelique's  story  had  had  an  exactly  oppo- 
site effect  to  the  one  intended ;  all  his  gloomiest 
thoughts  were  roused  again.  He  could  not  men- 
tion his  trouble  to  his  mother  after  this  new 
confirmation  of  Eulalie's  lightness,  and  he  carried 
his  sore  heart  back  with  him  to  the  chateau. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 


THE   MINE  EXPLODES. 


It  has  answered  to  the  purpose,  easy  things  to  understand, 
Better  thou  wert  dead  before  me,  though  I  slew  thee  with  my 
hand  I 

TENNYSON. 


/^RSOVITCH  had  returned  from  his  short 
^~>^  journey,  and  the  two  friends  met  again  in 
the  old  studio.  It  was  Van's  turn  now  to  be 
excited  and  indignant.  After  meeting  Fanny 
Fitz  Flirt  he  had  strolled  into  the  village.  An 
inexplicable  attraction  drew  him  to  Eulalie's  little 
shop  ;  his  calling  could  not  be  of  any  advantage 
to  her  at  this  time,  and  yet  the  reason  that  he 
gave  himself  for  going  was  that  he  might  be  of 
some  use  to  her.  He  was  now  giving  an  account 
of  this  visit  to  Orsovitch. 

"It  is  much  worse  than  we  feared,"  he  said  with 
feeling,  "  the  worst  that  could  happen ;  La  Gazette 
tracked  her  here,  found  my  note,  and  now  the 
whole  village  knows  it,  with  any  amount  of  addi- 
tion. Her  aunt's  manner  when  she  met  me  was 
37  (289) 


BOURBON   LILIES. 


not  such  as  to  reassure  any  lookers-on,  and  there 
were  plenty  of  them.  I  thought  she  would  pull 
the  house  down  about  my  ears  ;  such  a  torrent  oi 
abusive  lauguage  I  never  heard  in-  my  life.  I  tell 
you  what,  Orsovitch,  she  was  sublime  !  For  the 
moment  the  artist  in  me  triumphed  over  the  man, 
and  I  wanted  to  sit  right  down  and  paint  her, 
with  a  red  flag  in  one  hand,  and  a  paving-stone 
or  petroleum  can  in  the  other,  and  call  the  picture 
Vive  la  Commune  !  I  tried  to  calm  her.  '  But, 
my  dear  madame,'  said  I,  '  your  niece  is  as  inno- 
cent as  a  flower.'  I  thought  she  would  tear  my 
eyes  out.  '  Who  knows  it  ?  '  she  shrieked.  Eulalie 
came  forward,  composed  and  quiet,  not  a  bit  of 
that  frightened  look  in  her  eyes.  '  I  know  it, 
aunt,'  she  said,  '  and  God  knows  it.'  '  But 
Amedee,'  began  her  aunt.  '  Amedee  will  never 
believe  anything  wrong  of  me  —  never.'  You 
should  have  seen  her  then,  Orsovitch  ;  from  the 
way  in  which  she  said  that,  our  little  Eulalie 
might  have  been  a  princess  of  the  blood.  She 
had  drawn  her  aunt's  attention  from  me,  and  I 
left  the  shop  pretty  quickly,  I  assure  you." 

Orsovitch  listened  to  his  friend's  recital  without 
remark.    He  seemed  changed  and  strange  to  Van 
not  at  all  the  same  man  whom  he  had  left,  and  he 
had  indeed  passed  through  another  crisis  since 


THE   MINE  EXPLODES.  29! 

the  one  in  which  his  old  ideas  of  rank  and  honor 
had  made  him  decide  to  give  up  Eulalie.  The 
watch  had  awakened  hopes  that  marriage  might 
be  possible,  and  on  his  way  to  Brussels  with  Mr. 
Goth,  new  evidences  came  to  his  mind  :  Eulalie's 
resemblance  to  Papa  Robusti's  portrait  of  Char- 
lotte de  Montmorenci,  and  to  the  window  in  the 
church ;  her  thoroughly  lady-like  bearing  and 
instincts,  so  different  from  the  peasantry  and 
bourgeoisie  amongst  whom  she  lived.  He  was 
thankful  now  that  he  had  said  what  he  had,  and  no 
more  ;  he  had  not  yet  compromised  himself  by  an 
offer  of  marriage,  nor  had  he  insulted  her  by  any 
intimation  that  less  than  marriage  was  in  his 
thoughts.  At  Brussels  a  heavy  disappointment 
awaited  him.  Mr.  Goth  found  his  patron  a  busier 
worker  than  himself ;  he  consulted  all  the  authori- 
ties, he  unearthed  old  records  ;  he  made  heraldry  a 
particular  study,  and  he  was  soon  better  informed 
upon  the  subject  than  Mr.  Goth.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  deceive  him,  the  coat  of  arms  was  unmis- 
takably spurious ;  there  never  had  been  any 
marriage  between  the  De  Bucqs  and  the  Mont- 
morencis,  and  Eulalie's  parentage  was  as  much 
in  the  dark  as  ever.  In  his  disappointment,  a 
feeling  of  resentment  and  indignation  was  the 
^first  that  manifested  itself.  Somebody  had  im- 

'%, 


292  BOURBON  LILIES. 

posed  upon  him.  Mr.  Goth  was  ready  for  such 
an  emergency ;  when  he  saw  that  Orsovitch  had 
informed  himself  as  to  the  facts  of  the  case,  he 
frankly  (?)  acknowledged  that  he,  too,  had  been 
deceived;  the  owner  of  the  watch  must  have 
forged  the  escutcheon  engraved  upon  it ;  he  vowed 
that  all  he  had  done  to  it  was  to  clean  away 
grease  and  dirt,  artfully  rubbed  into  the  chasing 
to  obscure  the  device,  and  give  it  an  appearance 
of  antiquity.  Orsovitch  discharged  Mr.  Goth 
without  questioning  his  explanation  of  the  case, 
and  returned  to  Ecouen,  and  to  a  like  miasma  of 
doubt  to  that  which  was  clouding  Amedee's  poor 
brain.  And  so  he  had  been  duped  by  an  appear- 
ance of  simplicity  ;  the  girl  had  played  her  cards 
well,  and  had  almost  succeeded  ;  thank  Heaven, 
he  understood  her  designing  plans  before  it  was 
too  late.  He  was  glad  all  this  had  happened 
while  Van  was  away,  and  that  his  friend  did  not 
know  how  completely  he  had  been  played  upon. 
While  Van  was  speaking,  the  postman  called 
and  left  a  letter  for  Orsovitch.  "  What  is  it  ? " 
asked  Van  ;  "  I  trust  not  another  invitation  to  a 
shooting  party,  unless  it  should  happen  to  be  a 
challenge  to  a  duel.  I  could  make  one  at  such 
an  exercise  with  fire-arms  with  relish,  especially 
if  that  wretch  of  an  Amede'e  were  my  vis-ct-vis. 


THE  MINE  EXPLODES.  293 

The  idea  of  any  one  doubting  such  a  divine 
creature  as  Eulalie !  " 

"  Restrain  your  angry  passions,"  said  Orso- 
vitch  coolly  ;  "  it  is  from  Goupil.  He  is  coming 
out  on  Thursday  with  the  amateur  I  told  you  of. 
I  '11  sell  him  my  Leda  at  any  price ;  at  least  I 
shall  have  the  consolation  of  a  little  money  from 
this  disagreeable  business,  though  I  would  give 
double  what  it  will  bring  me  if  we  had  never 
embarked  in  it." 

All  the  following  day  Orsovitch  worked  dili- 
gently on  his  picture ;  the  next  he  exhibited  it  to 
the  Russian  amateur,  and  to  Mr.  Goupil.  It  was 
set  off  by  a  handsome  frame,  the  light  was  favor- 
able, and  both  gentlemen  were  struck  with  the 
painting.  The  Russian,  an  old  gentleman,  exam- 
ined it  critically  with  his  eye-glass,  then  drew 
the  picture-dealer  aside,  and  asked,  "  How  much 
shall  I  give?" 

"  Ten  thousand  francs,"  replied  the  other.  '*  It 
is  a  gem ;  it  would  be  received  at  the  Salon,  and 
be  worth  twice  as  much  afterward.  If  you  did 
not  care  to  keep  the  picture,  it  would  still  be  a 
good  money  investment ;  you  are  sure  to  double 
on  this  sum,  if  he  will  accept  it.  You  have  the 
refusal  of  the  picture,  and  if  you  do  not  take  it,  I 
will.  As  for  him,  his  reputation  is  made." 


294  BOURBON   LILIES. 

Van  heard  the  conversation  distinctly.  He 
was  surprised  at  the  dealer's  unwonted  enthusi- 
asm, but  had  no  chance  to  communicate  with 
Orsovitch,  who  was  standing  haughtily  a  little 
apart,  for  the  elderly  gentleman  now  asked  him 
his  price,  to  which  Orsovitch  replied  that  he 
would  rather  the  amateur  would  name  one. 

"  I  wilt  give  you  five  thousand  francs,"  said  the 
wary  customer. 

"  I  accept  your  offer,"  replied  Orsovitch  unhesi- 
tatingly. And  the  amateur,  evidently  elated, 
counted  out  the  money  in  crisp  bank  notes.  He 
would  have  given  three  times  as  much  if  Orso- 
vitch had  demanded  it ;  but  it  was  not  his  nature 
to  bargain,  nor  was  the  sum  paid  an  object  to 
him,  other  than  marking  a  stage  in  his  art  prog 
ress.  The  receipt  was  signed,  and,  promising  to 
box  the  picture  and  express  it  to  Paris  the  next 
day,  Orsovitch  accompanied  the  gentlemen  to  the 
omnibus.  One  of  the  village  tradesmen  arrived 
at  almost  the  same  moment  with  his  account  to 
be  settled.  As  this  involved  a  comparison  of 
books,  Van  showed  him  into  his  own  room  where 
they  remained  closeted  together  for  five  or  six 
minutes.  Having  shown  him  out,  and  returned 
to  the  studio,  Van  was  astounded  to  see  standing 
before  the  easel,  with  his  eyes  riveted  upon  the 


THE  MINE  EXPLODES.  295 


Leda,  which  Orsovitch  had  neglected  to  replace 
in  the  cabinet,  the  gamekeeper,  while  Mees  sat 
composedly  on  the  model  stand. 

Amedee  turned  suddenly  as  Van  entered.  "  So 
it  fs  true,"  he  said,  "  Eulalie  did  pose,  and  posed 
like  that.  I  would  not  believe  La  Gazette  when 
she  told  me  that  she  entered  secretly  every  day 
with  a  private  key,  —  no,  not  when  she  brought 
me  the  written  proof,  and  told  me  that  your  friend 
had  bought  a  cloak  in  Paris,  saying  when  he 
bought  it  that  it  was  for  his  mistress.  I  would 
not  believe  any  wrong  of  her  when  she  laid  aside 
the  embroidered  thing  to  dance  with  me  at  the 
fele.  And  when,  after  the  dance,  I  brought  it  to 
her,  and  wrapped  it  about  her  shoulders,  lest  she 
should  take  cold,  asking  her  playfully  how  she 
came  by  anything  so  fine,  I  would  not  see  the 
truth  when  she  replied  that  she  had  earned  it, 
but  should  not  tell  me  how  till  we  were  married. 
I  would  not  believe  the  town  talk.  God  knows  I 
came  here  this  afternoon  not  to  convince  myself, 
but  to  carry  away  your  friend's  word  with  which 
to  give  the  lie  to  La  Gazette's  story,  to  prove  to 
the  village  Eulalie's  innocence,  even  as  I  believed 
in  it  myself.  I  do  not  need  any  one's  word,  I 
have  the  truth  at  last  here."  And  touching  the 
spring  in  the  handle  of  his  dog-whip,  he  dashed 
the  stiletto  through  the  picture  again  and  again. 


296  BOURBON  LILIES. 

At  that  instant  Orsovitch  entered  the  room. 
He  strode  toward  the  young  man,  and  seized  him 
by  the  throat.  The  guard  turned  slightly,  and 
closed  with  him.  Mees  made  a  spring  to  aid  her 
master,  but  Van  caught  her  by  the  collar,  tripped 
and  wrestled  with  her  upon  the  floor.  Orsovitch 
and  Amed£e  were  both  powerful  men,  and  Van 
trembled  for  the  result,  but  he  was  unable  to 
interfere,  being  completely  occupied  with  the 
dog.  Orsovitch  was  the  stronger,  and  succeeded, 
little  by  little,  in  edging  his  antagonist  to  the 
door  and  out  upon  a  frail  balcony  which  ran  in 
front  of  it ;  then,  with  one  final  wrench,  he  freed 
himself  and  staggered  back  into  the  studio ;  but 
the  effort  had  thrown  Ame'de'e  violently  against 
the  slender  railing,  which  gave  way  with  his 
weight,  and  fell  crashing  with  him  to  the  ground. 
Letting  go  of  Mees,  who,  with  one  bound,  fol- 
lowed her  master,  Van  looked  over  the  balcony, 
thinking  that  Ame"d6e  must  be  killed.  But  no ; 
he  rose  painfully,  and,  with  his  hand  to  his  head, 
walked  slowly  away. 

Orsovitch  burned  the  mutilated  picture,  and 
wrote  to  his  purchaser,  returning  the  money, 
saying  that  an  accident  had  happened  to  the 
painting.  He  resolutely  refused  two  extremely 
advantageous  offers  to  reproduce  it,  and  only 


THE   MINE   EXPLODES.  2Q7 

waited  to  hear  that  Amedee  had  sustained  no 
serious  injury  from  his  fall,  to  pack  up  his  effects 
and  go  back  to  Russia.  Ecouen  had  become  in- 
supportable to  him,  and  he  told  Van  that  he 
never  should  return. 

It  was  with  deep  regret  that  Van  saw  him  go, 
for  he  had  become  much  attached  to  him,  and 
a  parting  at  any  time  would  have  been  hard 
enough,  while  there  was  something  in  the  present 
circumstances  which  threw  a  peculiar  gloom  over 
their  leave-taking. 

"Will  you  give  this  little  box  to  Eulalie?" 
said  Orsovitch,  handing  Van  the  watch ;  "  and 
write  me  when  they  are  married.  I  hope  I  have 
not  been  the  cause  of  breaking  their  engage- 
ment. I  have  done  my  best  to  explain  the 
picture  in  this  note,  which  you  may  take  to  that 
hot-headed  young  fool,  if  you  think  it  will  do 
any  good."  And  with  a  clasp  of  the  hand  that 
nearly  put  Van's  wrist  out  of  joint,  Orsovitch 
was  gone. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

FUTILE   EXPLANATIONS. 

Oh  I  why  to  those  who  know  them  not 

Should  costly  things  be  given  ? 
How  much  is  wasted,  wrecked,  forgot, 

On  this  side  heaven. 

JEAN  INGELOW. 

\  7" AN  had  only  obtained  a  glimpse  of  what 
Eulalie  suffered  from  her  aunt.  It  seemed 
as  if  Madame  Delacroix  had  entirely  forgotten 
that  it  was  through  her  entreaties  that  Eulalie 
had  first  consented  to  pose,  and  the  girl's  great 
repugnance  to  doing  so  at  the  time.  She  saw 
only  that  Eulalie  had  brought  disgrace  upon 
herself  and  her  family,  and  she  reproached  her 
bitterly  for  it.  Eulalie  had  not  pursued  her  new 
profession  as  a  model  long  enough  to  furnish 
what  was  lackin-g  in  the  sum  required  by  Adolph's 
substitute,  but  advanced  it,  as  she  had  agreed  to 
do,  by  selling  off  the  greater  part  of  her  little 
stock  in  trade  at  a  great  sacrifice,  and  gaiu.ing 
Adolph's  ill-will  in  consequence.  Her  aunt  was 

(298) 


FUTILE  EXPLANATIONS.  2Q9 

no  more  kindly  disposed  on  this  account.  Eulalie 
was  ruined  financially,  as  well  as  in  reputation. 
One  loss  might  have  been  borne,  but  both  to- 
gether, it  was  insupportab  .  On  the  day  follow- 
ing the  scene  at  the  studio  her  reproaches  had 
become  so  bitter  that  Eulalie  felt  flesh  and  heart 
fail  her,  —  it  did  not  seem  as  if  she  could  bear 
them  any  longer." 

"  You  see  very  well,"  her  aunt  had  said,  "  that 
Amedee  does  believe  the  scandal.  It  was  started 
the  night  of  the  fete,  and  we  have  not  seen  him 
since." 

"Perhaps  he  has  not  been  to  Ecouen  since, 
aunt,  and  has  not  heard  of  it." 

"  Yes  he  has,  several  times,"  remarked  Adolph 
"I  saw  him  yesterday  evening,  and  he  looked 
drunk ;  first  time  I  ever  saw  Old  Gunpowder  on  a 
spree,  but  he  hadn't  any  hat,  and  was  talking  to 
himself  as  he  walked." 

Eulalie  turned  very  white.  "I  think  I  will 
write  him  a  little  note,"  said  she,  "  and  ask  him 
to  come  here  and  explain  everything.  I  wish  I 
had  told  him  the  day  I  was  at  the  chateau ;  it 
was  the  only  right  way.  Will  you  carry  it  over 
to  Amedee  for  me,  Adolph  ? 

"  No  indeed,  I  won't,"  replied  that  obliging 
young  man.  "  I  don't  want  to  ^o  near  him  as 


300  BOURBON   LILIES. 

long  as  he  has  his  crazy  fit  on,  and  a  note  from 
you  wouldn't  be  apt  to  soothe  him  much,  I  'm 
thinking,  especially  if  you  are  such  a  fool  as  to  tell 
him  it 's  all  true." 

"  Adolph  is  right,"  said  his  mother,  "  acknowl- 
edging a  part  is  acknowledging  the  whole  ;  all 
we  have  to  do  now  is  to  deny  the  story  straight 
through." 

"  That's  what  you  get  for  keeping  me  here," 
added  Adolph,  sulkily ;  "  why  couldn't  you  have 
let  me  go  to  Africa  instead  of  raising  money  by 
underhand  means,  and  getting  into  all  this  mess  ? " 

"  You  all  talk  as  if  Eulalie  had  disgraced  the 
family,"  spoke  up  Pere  Paquerette ;  "  I  can't  see 
that  she  has  done  anything  to  be  ashamed  of, 
and  even  if  she  had,  you  ought  to  hold  by  her  all 
the  same.  Write  your  letter,  my  pretty  pet,  and 
I  will  take  it  over  to  the  young  man  for  you.  I 
am  not  so  quick  at  walking  as  my  father  was  at 
my  age ;  you  see,  Napoleon's  soldiers  were  used  to 
long  marches,  and  posing  all  day  long  makes  me 
used  to  standing  still.  But  I  Ve  poached  enough 
in  the  forest  to  know  the  short  cuts,  so  here's 
your  old  carrier-pigeon  all  ready." 

When  the  note  was  written  Pere  Paquerette 
pinned  it  into  the  crown  of  his  hat,  took  his  stick, 
and  set  out  upon  his  mission.  He  had  scarcely 


FUTILE  EXPLANATIONS.  3O1 

reached  the  end  of  the  street,  when  he  met 
Amede'e  himself  coming  toward  him.  The  old 
man  halted  suddenly,  brought  his  stick  up  to  his 
shoulder  with  a  sharp  "Attention,  company!" 
then  placing  his  ringer  beside  his  nose,  and 
winking  solemnly  in  token  of  secrecy,  he  shaded 
his  eyes  with  his  hand,  gazed  intently  up  the 
street,  and  then  turned  upon  his  heel  and  repeated 
the  same  manoeuvre  in  the  opposite  direction. 
This  done  he  proceeded  to  investigate  a  court- 
yard to  the  right,  and  an  alley-way  to  the  left, 
and  becoming  convinced  that  there  was  no  one 
looking  on,  approached  Amedee  (who  was  re- 
garding him  all  the  while  with  astonishment), 
and,  having  first  taken  off  his  hat  and  removed 
the  pin,  which  he  carefully  replaced,  with  one 
more  cautious  look  about  him,  he  thrust  Eulalie's 
letter  with  a  quick  movement  into  the  inner 
pocket  of  the  young  man's  shooting  jacket. 
Then  with  another  expressive  wink,  Pere  Paque- 
rette  ambled  briskly  away,  congratulating  himself 
that  he  had  performed  his  errand  in  the  most 
strategic  manner  possible.  Unfortunately  for 
him,  when  making  his  reconnaissance,  he  had 
forgotten  to  look  up,  and  from  an  upper  window 
La  Gazette  had  been  a  spectator  of  the  scene. 
She  now  slipped,  in  a  cat-like  way,  down  hex 


302  BOURBON  LILIES. 

stair-case,  and  darted  nimbly  around  the  corner; 
and  into  the  alley-way  after  Pere  Paquerette. 
The  old  gentleman  was  stepping  gingerly  along, 
flourishing  his  stick  in  a  somewhat  youthful  man- 
ner, for  his  late  performance*  had  awakened  all 
that  there  was  of  the  romantic  in  his  nature,  and 
had  probably  also  revived  old  souvenirs  of  Jose- 
phine Hautcceur,  for  Amedee,  who  looked  after 
him  moodily,  could  almost  fancy  from  his  step 
that  he  was  humming  some  ancient  dancing 
measure.  Opening  Eulalie's  note,  but  with  his 
eyes  still  fixed  upon  Pere  Paquerette,  he  was 
startled  into  something  like  a  consciousness 
of  the  present,  by  seeing  La  Gazette  stoop, 
remove  her  sabot,  and  deal  the  unsuspecting  old 
man  a  powerful  blow  on  the  back  of  the  head. 
Pere  Paquerette  struck  out  wildly,  but  did  not 
fall,  and,  turning,  faced  his  antagonist  with  all 
the  prowess  of  a  decrepid  but  not  cowardly  lion. 
Fearing  for  the  old  model,  Amedee  darted  to- 
ward the  field  of  battle ;  but  tearing  La  Gazette 
away  was  no  easy  matter,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
hold  her  about  the  waist  with  a  tighter  embrace 
than  he  had  certainly  ever  expected  to  give  her, 
while  Pere  Paquerette,  instead  of  profiting  by 
the  instant  in  which  she  was  held  prisoner,-to 
beat  a  retreat,  stood  rubbing  his  head,  and  re 


FUTILE  EXPLANATIONS.  3°3 

peating  a  vocabulary  of  favorite  oaths,  Amed^e 
maintained  a  firm  grasp  until  La  Gazette  relaxed 
her  struggles,  when  he  said  something  to  her  in 
a  low  voice,  which  caused  her  to  slip  from  his 
arms,  and  disappear  from  the  scene  of  action  as 
suddenly  as  she  had  come,  dealing  vigorous  blows 
with  her  sabot,  from  left  to  right,  upon  the  heads 
of  the  gamins  who  had  started  up  like  magic  at 
the  beginning  of  the  hostilities.  Amed6e  turned 
to  Pere  Paquerette,  and  asked  him  what  this 
meant. 

"  Fichtre,"  said  the  old  man,  nodding  gayly, 
"we  were  only  having  a  little  explanation." 

Amed6e  looked  at  him  sharply.  "  I  think  I 
had  better  see  you  home,"  he  said,  and  drawing 
Pere  Paquerette's  arm  through  his  own,  he  led 
him  toward  home. 

All  unconscious  of  the  duel  going  on  in  her 
behalf,  Eulalie  sat  in  her  little  shop,  trying  not 
to  listen  to  the  blame  which  her  aunt  still  heaped 
upon  her.  She  laid  her  head  wearily  on  the  show 
case  before  her,  and  fought  back  the  tears.  The 
little  bell  attached  to  the  door  gave  a  sharp  tinkle, 
and  she  rose  to  meet  her  customer ;  it  was  only 
her  uncle,  who  came  in  with  his  clothes  dis- 
ordered and  covered  with  dust,  his  face  scratched 
and  bleeding,  and  —  could  it  be,  that  that  man 
with  the  care-worn,  old  face  was  Amede'e ! 


304  BOURBON  LILIES. 

All  the  experience  of  a  lifetime  may  be  com 
pressed  into  a  very  few  hours,  and  when  it  so 
happens,  the  aged  face  shows  it  as  markedly  as 
though  years  had  been  taken  to  do  the  work. 
Since  the  discovery  of  the  Leda,  on  the  day 
before,  Amede'e  had  suffered  and  lived  much. 
He  had  fought  fierce  battles  with  himself  in  that 
lonely  chateau,  and  he  had  come  from  them  a 
defeated,  broken  man.  He  did  not  appear  to 
notice  Eulalie  at  all,  but  passed  her  without 
salutation,  and  pausing  at  her  aunt's  work-table 
said,  "  I  found  Fere  Paquerette  in  difficulty,  and 
have  brought  him  home."  Then  laying  a  letter 
upon  the  table,  he  added,  "Will  you  be  good 
enough  to  give  this  to  your  niece  ?  I  think  it  will 
explain  everything."  Then  he  turned  and  was 
about  to  leave  the  shop  with  no  further  word, 
when  Eulalie  sprang  from  her  seat  with  flashing 
eyes,  and  closing  the  door  placed  herself  against 
it,  with  her  hand  upon  the  lock,  saying  as  she 
did  so, '"No,  written  words  only  mystify  every- 
thing ;  here  we  are  face  to  face,  and,  before  we 
part,  let  us  understand  one  another.  Aunt,  will 
you  take  uncle  away,  and  do  up  his  face  for 
him  ?  I  think  Ame"dee  and  I  can  come  to  the 
truth  better  alone." 

"For  God's  sake,  no,"  said  Ame'de'e;  "I  had 


FUTILE  EXPLANATIONS.  3°S 

hoped  never  to  speak  to  you  again,  but  if  that 
must  be,  let  there  be  others  to  witness  between 
us."  And  he  sat  down  at  a  little  distance,  not 
having  once  looked  her  in  the  face,  and  with  his 
eyes  now  moodily  fixed  upon  the  floor. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Eulalie  asked, 
"You  have  read  my  note,  Ame'de'e  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied  bitterly,  "  but  your  confession 
was  rather  late,  coming  as  it  did  after  I  knew  all, 
especially  when  you  sent  your  aunt  to  me  yes- 
terday, before  I  called  on  Mr.  Orsovitch,  to  deny 
everything." 

"Aunt,  did  you  do  this?"  cried  Eulalie,  anc 
her  voice  as  she  spoke  had  the  sharp  ring  of  paii . 
in  it,  of  one  suddenly  wounded. 

"  You  need  not  blame  me  if  I  did,"  said  her 
aunt,  and  then  quoting  the  words  which  she 
herself  had  used  that  morning,  as  if  they  had 
been  Eulalie's,  and  she  really  thought  they  were, 
she  added,  "  I  am  sure  I  only  did  as  you  decided 
we  ought  to,  for  you  said  that  acknowledging  a 
part  was  acknowledging  the  whole,  and  it  was 
best  to  deny  it  up  and  down,  from  beginning  to 
end." 

"  It  would  have  made  little  difference  if  you 
had  spared  yourself  the  trouble  of  denying  it," 
said  Ame"dee;  "I  don't  blame  you  for  lying,  I  am 
39 


306  BOURBON  LILIES. 

sure  I  only  wish  that  it  was  possible  for  you  to 
deceive  me." 

"You  do  not  mean  that  you  believe  what 
Sidonie  and  La  Gazette  say  about  me,"  said 
Eulalie ;  "  I  have  broken  my  promise  to  you, 
made  at  the  beginning  of  our  engagement,  and 
have  posed  for  an  artist.  You  have  reason  enough 
in  that  for  breaking  the  engagement,  if  it  has 
become  hateful  to  you.  You  are  free,  Am£dee, 
free.  But  you  can  not  look  at  me  and  say,  even 
though  it  may  be  their  scandal  which  has  driven 
you  to  this  act,  you  can  not  look  me  in  the 
face  and  say  that  you  believe  it." 

Amed6e  groaned.  "  No,  Eulalie,"  he  said,  "  I 
can  not,  it  takes  away  my  senses  to  look  at  you. 
But  though  I  can  not  say  it  to  you,.  I  must  believe 
it,  for  I  have  seen  the  picture.  Sidonie  is  bad 
enough  too,  but  I  do  not  believe  she  would  speak 
harm  of  you,  if  it  were  not  true.  If  she  were  the 
promised  wife  of  any  man  she  would  keep  her 
faith  with  him  with  the  unconquerable  resoluticn 
of  a  woman  who  knows  by  bitter  experience  the 
difference  between  right  and  wrong.  Such  sin 
as  hers  might  be  forgiven,  but  yours  has  come 
after  your  promise  to  me ;  there  is  nothing  to  give 
me  any  hope  that  there  w>uld  be  any  changf 
after  our  marriage." 


FUTILE  EXPLANATIONS.  3°7 

The  blue  veins  on  Eulalie's  forehead  swelled 
painfully ;  she  let  go  her  hold  of  the  latch,  the 
door  swung  open,  and  she  stood  back  quietly  to 
let  him  pass  out. 

"  Monster ! "  shrieked  her  aunt,  seizing  Ame- 
deVs  shoulders  in  her  powerful  hands,  and  forcing 
him  down  again  upon  the  chair ;  "  Eulalie  -has 
finished,  and  now  I  will  speak.  Do  you  suppose 
we  are  going  to  let  you  break  your  promises  in 
this  way,  and  sit  with  folded  hands  while  you 
marry  that  baggage  ?  I  tell  you  that  unless  you 
marry  my  niece,  I  will  strangle  you.  Do  you 
hear,  viper  ?  I  will  str-r-r-r-angle  you."  And  the 
sinewy  ringers  were  clutched  before  his  face  in 
most  expressive  pantomime. 

"  Fichtre!  Now,  if  it  had  only  been  she  who 
had  met  La  Gazette  instead  of  me,"  said  Pere 
Paquerette,  admiringly,  "  wouldn't  she  have  turned 
the  tables  though  !  " 

"  I  am  not  going  to  marry  Sidonie,"  replied 
Amede"e,  "and  you  may  strangle  me  in  welcome ; 
if  you  do  not,  I  shall  do  it  myself.  I  feel  as  if  I 
were  dead  already,  and  dead  men  never  feel  their 
losses,  —  not  even  the  loss  of  life."  He  put  her 
from  him  as  though  she  were  a  child,  and  strode 
away. 

Then  all  the  air  turned  laint  and  suffocating  to  . 


308  BOURBON   LILIES. 

Eulalie,  and  she  felt  that  she  must  get  away 
somewhere  by  herself,  away  from  every  one,  or 
she  would  die.  Her  aunt  handed  her  Amedee's 
letter  as  she  left  the  door,  and  more  from  dumb 
habit  than  from  any  definite  purpose,  she  walked 
over  to  the  church,  kneeling  before  Our  Lady  of 
Seven  Sorrows  to  read  it  The  letter  was  even 
worse  than  Amddee's  words  had  been,  for  in  her 
presence  he  could  not  help  displaying,  in  the 
tones  of  his  voice,  flashes  of  his  old  tenderness. 
How  harsh  and  stern  it  seemed  as  she  read  alone 
in  the  solitary  church : 

EULALIE  :  The  task  which  I  have  set  myself  is  the 
hardest  of  my  life.  I  never  thought  that  I  should  be 
the  first  to  break  the  engagement  between  us.  And 
it  is  not  I  who  have  done  it;  your  own  conscience 
must  tell  you  that  you  have  done  it  yourself.  I  only 
write  to  say  that  I  know  all,  and  that  I  have  destroyed 
the  painting.  I  would  have  destroyed  the  artist,  too, 
were  it  not  that  that  might  be  interfering  with  your 
plans,  and  you  have  craft  enough  to  manage  your 
own  affairs  better  than  another  could  for  you. 

And  now  there  is  nothing  left  but  to  say  good-by. 
Eulalie,  you  have  broken  my  heart.  May  God  forgive 
you,  — may  He  forgive  us  both. 

AMEDEE. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

CONSOLATION. 
As  one  whom  his  mother  comforteth.  —  ISAIAH  Ixvi.  13. 

"\T  THAT  did  it  all  mean  ?  There  was  some 
terrible  mystery  which  she  could  not 
fathom.  The  explanation  had  left  each  more  in 
the  dark  than  before ;  she  felt  that  it  had  been 
useless,  and  was  sorry  now  that  she  had  forced 
Amedee  to  speak.  She  turned  to  the  letter,  and 
read  it  through  again  slowly,  studying  each  word, 
and  praying  for  light  to  understand  it.  It  must 
be  all  La  Gazette's  story,  for  she  felt  that  she  had 
done  nothing  to  deserve  this.  Then,  in  the  midst 
of  her  own  trouble,  came  a  swift  fear  for  Am6d6e 
which  swallowed  up  all  the  rest.  What  did  his 
parting  words,  and  this  last  sentence  of  the  letter 
mean  ?  Could  he  intend  to  take  his  own  life  ? 
"  O,  Mother  of  Sorrows,  pray  for  me ! "  she 
moaned  in  agony ;  but  the  stony  gaze  of  the 
painted  Mater  Dolorosa  did  not  change,  and  in- 

(309) 


310  BOURBON  LILIES. 

stinctively  her  hand  sought  her  pocket,  and  a 
little,  well-thumbed  book,  that  had  been  given  her 
long  ago  at  school  by  the  sweet  Soeur  Celeste, 
and  which  had  often  brought  her  consolation  in 
time  past.  It  was  the  Imitation  of  Christ,  by 
Thomas-a-Kempis ;  but  her  grief  was  too  poignant 
and  frantic,  now,  for  the  sweet  thoughts  that  lay 
like  so  many  pressed  flowers  within  its  pages,  to 
give  her  peace.  She  read  mechanically. 

"  There  is  none  in  this  world,  even  though  he 
be  king  or  bishop,  without  some  tribulation  or 
perplexity." 

What  of  that  ?  she  thought.  It  did  not  make 
her  own  burden  any  lighter  to  know  that  others 
had  theirs. 

"  If  thou  canst  be  silent  and  suffer,  without 
doubt  thou  shalt  see  that  the  Lord  will  help  thee. 
And  whom  God  will  help,  no  malice  of  man  shall 
be  able  to  hurt." 

But  she  could  not  be  silent,  and  God  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  her.  She  could  not  be  patient 
now,  and  the  words,  "  Indeed  if  there  had  been 
any  better  thing  and  more  profitable  to  man's 
salvation  than  suffering,  surely  Christ  would  have 
showed  it  by  word  and  example,"  only  roused 
within  her  a  fierce  feeling  of  rebellion  and  injus- 
tice. Then  the  thought  came  that  it  was  here  in 


CONSOLATION.  311 


this  church  that  she  had  received  the  sign  that 
induced  her  to  pose ;  the  heavens  seemed  brass, 
and  she  felt  an  irresistible  longing  for  human 
sympathy,  for  some  one  not  cold,  irresponsive, 
unheeding,  to  whom  she  might  pour  out  the  whole 
story.  "  I  will  go  to  the  Mere  Angelique,"  she 
thought ;  "  Am6d6e  is  perhaps  there  now ;  so 
much  the  better,  we  will  make  •  her  judge  be- 
tween us." 

Through  the  poplar  trees,  with  their  nests  of 
mistletoe,  that  outlined  themselves  like  feathery 
palms  against  the  sky,  she  saw  the  spire  of  a 
church  aslant  with  age.  It  was  as  though  it  had 
grown  weary  of  pointing  its  palsied  finger  to 
heaven  these  many  years,  before  the  eyes  of  a 
people  all  regardless  of  the  sign.  Action  for  a 
purpose  had  brought  with  it  hope,  and  Eulalie 
caught  a  new  meaning  from  the  leaning  spire. 
"  God  still  reigns  overhead,"  she  thought,  "  but 
the  church  does  not  point  to  Him,  and  that  is 
perhaps  the  reason  why  I  have  gone  wrong,  and 
have  not  found  Him.  I  ought  not  to  have  sought 
direction  from  the  church,  when  I  knew  that  the 
straight  way  was  the  right  one.  I  will  not 
distrust  God ;  it  is  I  who  have  brought  all  this 
trouble  upon  myself;  it  is  not  His  fault." 

No  one  looked  out  from  the  gate  lodge  as  she 


312  BOURBON  LILIES. 

rang  the  bell ;  there  was  no  one  within  but  Mere 
Angelique's  pet  raven,  hopping  solemnly  about, 
with  its  head  askew,  and  Robespierre,  the  fierce 
white  cat,  who  lay  sunning  himself  among  the 
geraniums  on  the  window-sill.  The  doors  were 
opeji :  perhaps  Mere  Angelique  was  in  the  garden, 
and  Eulalie  passed  M.  Dupinceau's  grand  house, 
and  found  herself  among  beds  of  brilliant  bloom. 
Garden  tools  were  strewn  on  the  ground  near  the 
conservatory,  and  a  watering  pot  running  over 
under  the  little  stream, ,  which  dripped  and 
plashed  over  the  rockery,  told  that  some  one  was 
near  at  hand.  She  opened  the  door  of  the  poultry 
yard,  and  found  Charlotte  and  Mimi  feeding  the 
doves  and  pouter  pigeons.  This  was  generally 
Mere  Angelique's  employment,  for  she  was  fond 
of  pets,  and  managed  to  have  some  odd  one 
always  about  her.  The  white  rabbits,  with  eyes 
like  ruby  currants,  were  her  favorites,  and  Eulalie 
caressed  them,  while  Charlotte  told  her  that  the 
Mere  Angelique  had  gone  to  do  their  washing  at 
the  Bime.  The  Bime  was  a  pond  in  the  forest 
not  far  from  the  village,  where  the  peasant  women 
generally  beat  out  their  washing  on  the  stones. 
Through  the  forest  Eulalie  threaded  her  way,  glad 
of  the  walk,  to  calm  and  clear  her  mind.  The 
wood  was  not  dense,  for  every  year  one  seventh 


CONSOLATION.  313 


of  it  was  cut,  on  the  principle  that  it  takes  st-  ven 
years  for  a  tree  to  attain  its  giowth.  In  these 
open  aisles  God  seemed  nearer  than  in  the  church, 
and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  haunting  fear  that 
Ame'dee  might  do  something  desperate,  she  tould 
have  accepted  the  explanation  of  suffering  of 
meek  a-Kempis,  and  been  quite  at  rest ;  a  trouble, 
the  full  bitterness  of  which  is  tasted,  is  so  much 
easier  to  bear  than  a  fear  that  outlines  itself 
vaguely  in  the  future.  Even  now,  troubled  as 
she  was,  habit  made  her  notice  the  blackberry 
vines,  and  think  what  a  beautiful  trimming  they 
would  make  for  a  ball  dress.  She  counted  the 
leaves  in  each  cluster,  and  noted  their  tinting  as 
carefully  as  though  she  intended  copying  them. 
Nature  was  as  beautiful  and  calm  as  ever,  and  she 
could  scarcely  believe  that  there  had  ever  been, 
or  could  be,  misery  in  the  world.  There  was  a 
hope  at  her  heart,  too,  for  she  was  going  to  the 
Mere  Angdlique. 

As  Eulalie  approached  the  Bime,  she  saw  her 
kneeling  at  its  side,  with  her  washing  piled 
around  her,  and  was  struck  as  an  artist  would 
have  been  by  the  bouquet  of  color  which  it  made. 
At  that  distance  the  red  flannel,  faded  blue 
blouses,  and  purple  petticoats  were  transformed 
into  crimson  roses,  tender  blue  forget-me-nots, 
40 


3 14  BOURBON  LILIES. 

and  royal  passion  flowers,  from  the  centre  of 
which  Mere  Angelique's  dazzling  caps  rose  like 
a  great  snowy  camellia.  She  had  finished  her 
work,  and  seating  herself  on  a  little  bank  she 
held  Eulalie  upon  her  knees  as  though  she  had 
been  a  child,  and  listened  to  her  pitiful  story. 

"  I  have  been  expecting  thee  every  day  since 
the  fete,"  she  said,  "  for  I  too  have  heard  rumors 
of  this,  and  I  knew  that  my  girl  would  come  to 
me  with  it.  Ame"dee  should  have  told  me  as 
thou  hast  done,  but  though  I  gave  him  every 
opportunity,  he  was  as  silent  as  an  oyster ;  he 
knew  well  that  I  would  take  thy  part.  Now 
show  me  the  letter  and  let  me  see  what  my  crazy 
boy  has  written.  Tiens  !  "  said  she,  after  reading 
it  through,  "this  sounds  serious.  It  could  not 
have  been  La  Gazette's  story  alone,  which 
prompted  this.  All  that  she  had  to  tell  with  any 
proof  was  that  you  had  posed,  and  as  for  the 
rest,  a  child  could  see  that  it  was  made  up  by 
her  own  envy.  I  have  myself  posed  for  one  of 
the  young  men  at  the  studio,  and  he  did  not  have 
by  any  means  a  naughty  air.  Tell  me,  my  child, 
just  how  you  posed,  what  you  were  doing,  and 
how  you  were  dressed.  Sometimes  the  artists 
have  costumes  which  they  wish  their  models  to 
wear,  which  are  not  at  all  proper  for  young  girls. 


CONSOLATION.  3 1 5 


M.  Dupinceau  painted  a  blue  velvet  dress  the 
other  day,  that  was  so  low  in  the  neck  that  he 
could  not  get  a  girl  in  the  village  to  wear  it,  and 
he  had  to  put  it  on  his  wooden  woman  with  the 
hinges  in  her  arms  and  knees.  Why,  it  was 
quite  indecent !  Positively,  it  was  fit  only  for  a 
duchess  to  wear,  or  for  some  other  great  lady. 
And  then,  sometimes  they  paint  courting  pic 
tures.  There  was  red-headed  Blanche,  that  had 
to  pose  as  if  she  were  kissing  her  lover  through 
the  bars  of  our  gate  ;  there  the  girl  stood  pouting 
out  her  lips  for  hours  at  a  time ;  M.  Dupinceau 
bothered  more  over  that  picture,  than  with  any 
that  he  made  that  year ;  the  girl  never  would  give 
him  the  right  expression.  '  Send  down  to  the 
Pomme  d' Or,  for  Henri  the  hostler/  said  I,  'to 
stand  on  the  other  side  of  the  gate,  and  the 
expression  will  come  quickly  enough.'  You  were 
not  doing  anything  of  that  kind,  were  you,  Eu- 
lalie  ?  Am6dee  would  not  like  it,  if  he  saw  a 
picture  of  you  kissing  some  one  else  ;  especially, 
if  M.  Orsovitch  had  painted  in  his  friend  with 
you,  he  might  have  thought  that  you  posed  thai 
way  all  day  long." 

The  color  mounted  to  Eulalie's  temples.  "  I 
don't  know  what  M.  Orsovitch  painted,"  said 
she,  "  but  I  wore  the  dress  I  have  on,  and  I  sat 
in  a  chair  all  the  time  making  my  flowers." 


BOURBON  LILIES. 


"Then  Am6d£e  must  have  seen  some  other 
picture,  that  is  certain.  He  will  be  arrested  if 
he  does  not  have  a  care  ;  there  is  a  law  against 
walking  into  people's  houses  and  destroying 
furniture,  as  though  we  were  in  the  midst  of  the 
commune.  Though  I  don  't  really  know  whether 
pictures  are  furniture,  and  perhaps  they  could 
not  arrest  him,  unless  he  broke  something  which 
was  of  some  use.  I  am  more  afraid  of  his  doing 
himself  some  harm,  than  of  other  people  hurting 
him.  All  this  comes  from  idleness  ;  if  he  worked 
hard  all  day,  he  would  not  have  time  for  jealous 
fancies.  But  there  he  is  in  that  gloomy  old 
chateau  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  imagine  trage- 
dies. I  tell,  you  Eulalie,  that  next  to  the  priests, 
the  greatest  enemy  to  religion  is  idleness.  There 
is  nothing  like  work,  Eulalie.  I  should  have  died 
long  ago,  if  it  had  not  been  for  it  ;  but  when 
Death  came  and  knocked  at  my  door,  saying, 
'  Mere  Angelique,  I  shall  call  for  you  soon,  you  are 
sick  now,  send  for  the  doctor.'  I  have  always 
replied,  'You  mistake,  Sir  Death,  I  never  have 
time  to  be  sick,  and  there  is  too  much  for  me  to 
do  in  order  to  keep  alive,  to  give  me  time  to 
think  of  dying.'  And  so  Death,  seeing  that  I  did 
not  think  it  worth  my  while  to  trouble  myself 
about  him,  has  thought  it  best,  I  suppose,  to 


CONSOLATION.  31/ 


slight  me  in  the  same  way.  Ah,  there  is  nothing 
like  work,  little  Eulalie ;  it  will  keep  you  from 
being  wicked,  it  will  keep  you  from  being  sick, 
it  will  keep  you  from  being  unhappy.  If  your 
head  aches  so  that  you  cannot  think,  don't  think. 
Thinking  is  poor  business,  and  little  good  ever 
came  from  it.  Work !  do  your  own  duty  well, 
and  as  much  of  other  people's  as  you  can,  and 
you  won't  have  time  to  be  miserable." 

"  I  am  willing  to  do,"  said  Eulalie,  submissively, 
"  if  I  only  knew  what  it  was  my  duty  to  do.  Don't 
think,  Mere  Angelique,  that  I  have  told  you  all 
this  simply  to  complain.  Tell  me  what  I  ought 
to  do  now,  for  it  is  all  dark  to  me." 

"  No ;  I  know  you  don't  mean  to  complain," 
said  the  old  lady,  "and  as  far  as  I  can  see  you 
have  done  your  duty,  and  if  you  are  still  troubled 
in  mind,  try  to  do  some  of  Amedee's  for  him.  I 
do  not  believe  he  has  even  asked  what  you  did  at 
the  studio  ;  if  you  could  get  the  artists  themselves 
to  call  on  him  and  explain  matters,  it  might  do 
some  good." 

"  Nothing  but  explanations  ! "  exclaimed  Eu- 
lalie, with  a  gesture  of  despair.  "  They  are  such 
terrible  things,  and  the  truth  is  so  hard  to  find, 
we  seem  farther  away  from  it  than  ever,  after 
them.  This  morning  has  taught  me  to  look  at 


BOURBON  LILIES. 


them  as  surgical  operations  :  when  one  is  suffer- 
ing from  an  incurable  disease,  they  only  cause 
agony  uselessly." 

"But  sometimes,  Eulalie,  the  wound  is  not 
incurable,  and  the  operation  saves  life." 

This  last  word  roused  Eulalie  ;  she  sprang 
from  Mere  Angelique's  lap.  "I  will  try,"  said 
she  ;  "  but  first  let  me  help  you  carry  home  your 
washing." 

Nothing  would  have  induced  her  to  have  faced 
Amedee  again  for  her  own  sake.  Mere  Angeli- 
que  had  strengthened  her  in  her  conviction  that 
she  was  not  to  blame,  and  she  felt  that,  with  the 
approval  of  her  own  conscience,  she  could  bear 
the  gossip  of  the  village  and  the  taunts  of  her 
aunt.  Amedee  had  himself  erased  every  trace  of 
the  affection  which  she  fancied  she  had  felt  for 
him  ;  a  lonely  life  stretched  before  her,  but  her 
only  regret  for  that  was  that  now  Mere  Angelique 
could  never  be  really  her  mother.  She  could  not 
bear  to  tell  her  this,  and  fate  was  bringing  it  fast 
enough  without  word  or  sign  from  her  ;  she  would 
still  do  her  utmost  ;  if  AmedeVs  life  was  in  danger, 
she  would  make  one  more  effort  to  save  him. 

"Perhaps  it  may  help  you  to  bear  your  bur- 
den, little  Eulalie,"  said  Mere  Angelique,  as  they 
walked  on  through  the  darkening  wood  together, 


CONSOLATION.  3*9 


"  to  know  that  a  trouble  came  into  my  life  when  I 
was  several  years  younger  than  you  are  now." 
"  A  trouble  like  mine,  little  mother  ? " 
"  Like  it,  and  not  like  it,  for  all  heart-troubles 
resemble  each  other;  and  yet  it  seems  to  me 
that  mine  was  the  more  serious,  for  there  is  no 
trouble,  however  bitter,  that  cannot  be  borne  by 
strong  heart  and  a  true.  I  mean  a  heart  like 
thine,  that  can  look  back  through  all  the  misera- 
ble business,  a'nd  say :  After  all  I  have  done  what 
was  right ;  there  is  sin  in  it  somewhere,  but  not  of 
my  sinning.  For  all  trouble  is  sin,  little  one,  and 
trouble  that  cannot  be  borne  comes  only  to  the 
one  who  is  to  blame,  and  knows  it."  And  then 
Mere  Angelique  told  the  story  of  her  youth,  and 
of  the  Comte  de  Champnoix.  "  And  so  I  was 
saved,  my  darling ;  but  it  was  none  of  my  doing, 
nor  the  church's  doing,  nor  the  doing  of  good 
Christian  people.  It  was  the  good  God  himself 
who  did  it,  Eulalie." 

Eulalie  had  never  before  heard  the  Mere  An- 
g61ique  refer  to  the  Deity  in  any  way.  Some 
even  thought  that  she  did  not  believe  in  God. 
Eulalie  wished  that  they  could  have  heard  her 
reverent  whisper,  and  seen  the  significant  upward 
glance  that  accompanied  it ;  they  were  sufficient 
refutation  of  any  charge  of  infidelity. 


320  BOURBON   LILIES. 

At  the  gate  of  Villa  Adeline  they  found 
Adolph.  "  Dinner  has  been  waiting  this  long 
time,"  said  he ;  "  I  have  hunted  for  you  every- 
where. Why  didn't  you  come  home  before  ?  The 
fact  is,"  he  added,  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of 
hearing,  "  mother  has  been  terribly  anxious  about 
you.  She  was  afraid  you  had  drowned  yourself 
somewhere,  and  has  been  blaming  herself  for 
having  helped  drive  you  to  it.  However,  that 
will  not  hinder  her  scolding  you  well  as  soon  as 
she  sees  you  safe  and  sound." 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE   LAST   BUGLE   CHARGE. 

He  who  so  well  the  bugle  played 
Could  not  mistake  the  words  it  said 
"  Come  forth  to  th£  death, 
Victor  Galbraith !  " 

LONGFELLOW. 

HHHE  night  after  Orsovitch  left,  Van  sat  late 
and  lonely  in  the  studio,  troubled  by  a  vague 
apprehension  which  he  was  powerless  to  shake 
off.  The  full  moon  streamed  through  the  broad 
windows,  and  looking  out  he  noticed  that  the  little 
gate  at  the  garden's  end  was  wide  open.  He 
wondered  at  this,  remembering  that  Eulalie  still 
had  the  key,  and,  rising,  took  his  hat  to  go  and 
close  it,  when  he  was  startled  by  a  quick,  light 
step  upon  the  stair,  and  a  little  fluttering  knock 
at  the  door.  The  next  moment  he  stood  face  to 
face  with  Eulalie. 

"  O  !  Monsieur  Van,"  said  she,  "you  and  Mon- 
sieur Orsovitch  must  go  to  Am&le'e ;  he  is  insane, 
41  (321) 


322  BOURBON  LILIES. 

I  think.  O !  go,  both  of  you,  and  tell  him  just 
what  I  did  here.  Please  go  to-night,  for  I  dare 
not  think  what  he  may  do  if  we  leave  him  alone 
in  that  dreadful  chateau  until  morning." 

"  Orsovitch  has  gone  away,  but  I  will  go  with 
you  certainly,"  said  Van,  inwardly  deploring  the 
unhappy  fate  which  had  taken  his  friend  away 
that  afternoon.  "  I  have  a  letter  which  he  left  for 
Ame'dee,  and  I  will  add  all  that  I  can  for  you." 

"O,  do!"  replied  Eulalie.  "I  think  he  will 
believe  you ;  all  the  villagers  like  you." 

They  passed  through  the  meadows,  avoiding 
the  streets,  and  struck  just  beyond  the  town  the 
great  white  road  which  led  to  Montmorenci. 
How  weird  and  ghostly  the  trees  looked  in  that 
lonely  walk,  —  poplars  that  guarded  the  road  in 
long  military  lines,  or  stood  a  little  apart,  drawn 
up  in  hollow  squares.  It  was  a  night  for  grotesque 
fancies,  and  their  black  trunks,  clothed  with  a 
scraggy  growth  of  twigs,  outlined  strongly  as 
they  were  against  the  moonlit  sky,  seemed  giant 
centipedes,  dropping  down  from  the  heavens  upon 
a  plague-stricken  earth,  on  whose  face  the  white 
moonlight  lay  like  mildew.  The  trees  moved 
slightly  in  the  night  air,  and  every  one  of  their 
myriad  claws  seemed  to  writhe  and  shudder,  as  the 
voice  of  nature  reminded  Van  that  death  was  in 


THE  LAST  BUGLE  CHARGE.  323 

the  world,  and  he  thought  of  Poe's  sonnet  to  the 
Conqueror  Worm.  The  willows,  which  they 
passed  in  the  swampy  hollow  a  little  farther  on, 
disfigured  and  stunted  from  frequent  lopping,  were 
gnomes  and  deformed  dwarfs,  who  leered  at  them 
from  the  scores  of  eyes  with  which  their  gnarled 
forms  were  studded.  On,  and  still  on,  they 
hastened  ;  the  road  had  seemed  a  long  one  with 
the  jovial  companionship  of  Orsovitch,  it  was 
interminable  now.  Their  rapid  footsteps  on  the 
rough  paving  of  the  deserted  streets  of  sleeping 
Daumont  might  have  roused  a  fear  within  its 
gates  with  carved  escutcheons  and  ivy-hidden 
houses,  that  a  thief  was  hurrying  by.  As  they 
left  the  village,  Eulalie's  strength  began  to  fail, 
and  she  took  breath  for  a  moment  upon  a  bench 
under  a  little  roof  which  covered  one  of  the 
crucifixes  which  mark  the  boundaries  of  French 
villages.  "Ave  crux,  spes  unica"  Van  read,  and 
Eulalie  kissed  the  white  form  of  the  murdered 
Christ,  her  lips  moving  in  agonized  prayer. 
After  a  time  she  grew  calmer,  and  when  she  rose 
from  her  knees,  and  turned  her  tear-washed  face 
toward  Van,  all  the  excitement  and  impatience 
were  gone ;  she  had  brought  her  burden  to  the 
foot  of  the  cross,  and  left  it  there. 

They  resumed  their  walk,   Eulalie  now  con- 


324  BOURBON  LILIES. 

versing  composedly  as  they  went.  "  If  Amede*e 
could  only  take  his  trouble  to  God,"  she  said,  "  I 
should  not  fear  for  him,  but  he  has  not  learned 
the  meaning  of  his  own  name ;  he  shuts  his 
trouble  in  his  own  heart,  leaving  it  there  to  eat 
like  a  cancer,  instead  of  bringing  it  to  Christ,  who 
careth  for  us."  Then  it  was  that  Van  began  to 
understand  this  heroic  soul ;  none  of  her  anxiety 
and  grief  was  for  her  own  ruined  reputation  and 
blasted  life,  it  was  all  for  Ame'de'e.  Something  of 
this  Van  expressed  to  her,  and  she  replied  with  a 
sublime  look  transfiguring  her  face,  "  I  have  no 
need  to  be  anxious  for  myself,  —  I  have  God." 

They  entered  the  forest.  If  it  had  seemed 
mysterious  at  midday,  it  was  ghastly  now.  They 
walked  more  slowly,  for  the  moonlight  penetrated 
but  dimly  the  heavy  masses  of  foliage.  Suddenly, 
at  the  very  point  where  Van  had  heard  it  upon 
his  last  visit,  there  smote  upon  their  ears  the  notes 
of  the  hunting  horn.  Was  it  the  time  alone  which 
gave  the  charge  that  strange  thrill  of  despair,  con- 
quered by  determination  ?  Again  and  again  the 
echo  swept  it  toward  them,  swelling  louder,  clearer, 
more  triumphantly,  "a  la  mctoire,  d  la  victoire  /" 
Fainter  and  fainter  with  each  repetition,  the  notes 
died  away  into  silence.  "  Amedee  is  there,"  said 
Van,  "let  us  hasten."  All  the  way  he  had  been 


THE   LAST  BUGLE   CHARGE.  325 

trying  to  frame  a  defense  of  Eulalie,  and  now  he 
vainly  strove  to  arrange  the  truth  in  coherent 
form,  and  in  a  manner  that  would  be  likely  to 
carry  conviction  to  a  suspicious  mind.  They 
had  reached  the  open  space  in  which  stood  the 
chateau ;  the  window  in  the  tower  overlooking 
the  lake  was  open,  and  dimly  outlined  against  the 
white  curtains  they  could  see  a  dark  form.  "  It 
is  Am6dee  !  "  exclaimed  Eulalie  ;  "  he  beckoned 
to  me."  Looking  again,  Van  distinctly  saw  an 
arm  wave,  and  they  hurried  forward.  In  answer 
to  their  heavy  striking  upon  the  iron  knocker, 
there  came  only  the  hollow  reverberation  of  the 
blows,  and  a  dismal  howl  from  Mees,  who  seemed 
to  be  shut  up  in  the  lower  hall.  "  There  is 
another  entrance,"  said  Eulalie,  "  which  leads  to 
a  little  staircase  in  the  tower,"  and  springing  into 
the  skiff  which  was  moored  upon  the  bank,  she 
sculled  it  rapidly  across  the  lake  to  a  low  arched 
doorway,  whose  threshold  was  washed  by  the 
lake.  Here  the  door  gave  way  before  their 
united  efforts,  and  Eulalie  darted  rapidly  up  a 
winding  staircase.  Unacquainted  with  the  way, 
Van  followed  more  slowly,  but  found  himself 
presently  in  a  narrow  corridor,  on  which  opened 
the  door  of  the  Prince  de  Condi's  chamber.  It 
was  ajar :  he  knocked,  listened  a  moment ;  then, 


326  BOURBON  LILIES. 

as  there  was  no  reply,  knocked  again  more  loudly 
and  entered.  One  glance  told  him  the  whole 
horrible  truth.  There,  in  the  full  light  of  the 
window,  stood  Eulalie,  supporting  in  her  arms  all 
that  was  left  of  her  lover.  At  his  feet  lay  the 
hunting  horn,  with  which  he  had  sounded  his  own 
death  charge,  having  died,  as  he  had  said  he 
wished  he  might,  with  the  answer  from  the  echo 
vidette  on  the  cliffs  across  the  lake  ringing  in  his 
ears.  Van  sprang  into  a  chair,  and  hastily 
severed  the  rope  fastened  in  the  interlaced  cres- 
cents, from  which  he  remembered  Am^d^e  had 
said  he  meant  to  suspend  bird  or  flower,  or  other 
happy,  pleasant  thing,  to  give  her  sweet  thoughts 
They  laid  him  upon  the  bed,  and  labored  long 
over  him  ;  but  the  spinal  column  was  broken,  and 
though  but  twenty  minutes  before  he  had  sent 
the  wild  charge  thrilling  through  the  forest, 
death  had  been  instantaneous,  and  there  was  no 
hope. 

"  You  may  go  for  a  physician  and  a  gendarme," 
said  Eulalie  at  last  despairingly,  as  the  truth 
dawned  upon  her,  and  she  sank  upon  her  knees 
beside  the  suicide. 

"And  you  ? "  asked  Van. 

"  I  will  stay  here  with  him  until  you  come.  I 
was  to  have  lived  here  always  you  know."  She 


THE   LAST   BUGLE   CHARGE.  Z27 

spoke  bravely,  but  there  was  a  tremor  in  her 
voice ;  the  strain  had  been  too  much,  and  she 
was  breaking  down. 

"I  shall  not  leave  you,"  said  Van;  "it  would 
be  enough  to  drive  you  crazy.  There  is  no  need 
of  any  one  staying  with  him,  and  I  insist  upon 
seeing  you  home  before  giving  the  authorities 
information." 

Eulalie's  only  answer  was  a  pleading  look. 
"  I  want  to  bid  him  good-by,"  she  said. 

Van  bowed  and  silently  left  the  room,  pacing 
backward  and  forward  in  the  little  hall  outside 
the  door.  No  sound  came  to  him  from  within,  no 
spoken  word  or  sob,  all  was  silent  as  the  grave. 
He  gave  a  violent  start  when  Eulalie  noiselessly 
opened  the  door,  saying,  "  I  am  ready  now,  Mr. 
Van." 

As  they  left,  Van  took  one  long  last  look  at  the 
face  of  the  unhappy  boy.  It  was  very  peaceful, 
and  were  it  not  that  his  lips  were  as  blue  as  the 
fleiir  de  Us  which  spotted  the  pillow,  he  could  have 
said  —  life-like.  One  thing  he  noticed,  the  missing 
panes  in  the  window  had  been  replaced,  and  the 
scarlet  sign  upon  his  breast  was  the  sign  of  the 
cross. 

As  silently  as  they  had  come  they  hastened 
down  the  avenue  together.  The  moon  was  setting, 


328  BOURBON  LILIES. 

there  would  be  several  hours  before  dawn,  and  the 
air  was  chill  and  damp.  Eulalie  trembled,  and 
walked  unsteadily.  Van  drew  her  arm  within  his 
own,  she  was  too  weak  to  resist,  and  so  preoccu 
pied  that  she  scarcely  noticed  the  action.  The 
silence  was  too  oppressive ;  Van  could  not  bear 
it ;  he  felt  as  if  he  should  go  mad  if  he  did  not 
speak. 

"  It  is  terrible,"  he  said,  "  for  a  soul  to  go  out 
into  the  darkness  in  this  way." 

"  Yes,"  said  Eulalie,  "  Am6dee  has  gone  out 
into  the  dark.  But  God  is  in  the  dark,  too  ;  and, 
though  the  way  be  a  longer  one,  he  will  bring  him 
home  at  last." 

So  death  to  her,  even  such  a  death,  was  not  "  the 
blackness  of  darkness  forever."  And  Van  real- 
ized how  to  her  mind  the  idea  of  purgatory  must 
be  one  of  comfort,  —  a  punishment  not  eternal, 
but  remedial  in  its  character,  and  in  some  illogi- 
cal way,  he  tried  to  reconcile  such  a  belief  with 
his  own  Protestant  creed. 

"  I  am  very  tired,"  said  Eulalie,  and  again  they 
rested  under  the  cross.  When  they  resumed  their 
walk,  she  leaned  heavily  upon  his  arm,  and  Van 
passed  his  own  around  her  with  the  proud  con- 
sciousness of  protection  and  support. 

"  Lean  on  me,  Eulalie,"  he  said,  with  a  thrill 


THE  LAST  BUGLE  CHARGE.  $29 

of  happiness,  as  he  felt  that  he  could  sustain  and 
help  her  in  her  trouble,  be  it  in  ever  so  slight  a 
degree.  There  was  no  feeling  of  conscious  love ; 
no  thought  that  Eulalie  was  free,  and  that  he 
might  claim  this  rare  soul  as  his  own.  The 
moment  was  too  solemn,  and  Van's  mind  was  too 
naive,  too  ignorant  of  itself  as  yet,  for  such  a 
thought.  He  had  never  analyzed  his  emotions ; 
never  asked  himself  what  this  sympathetic,  be- 
witching girl  might  be  to  him.  He  had  loved  her 
for  some  time  past  without  knowing  it ;  his  was 
.the  innocency  of  heart  which  only  needed  some 
sudden  shock  like  this  to  translate  its  own 
emotions.  In  this  regard,  Eulalie  was  more 
worldly-wise  than  himself  ;  she  had  repressed  the 
growing  love  of  which  she  was  painfully  con- 
scious, with  a  sublime  self-control  that  had  never 
suffered  her  secret  to  be  guessed.  Through  the 
dull  pain  and  weariness,  which  was  gradually 
numbing  every  sensation,  she  felt  his  protecting 
arm,  and  heard  his  cheering  words.  Was  it  wrong 
to  accept,  now  at  her  sore  need,  a  little  of  his 
sympathy  ?  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  could  not 
have  dragged  her  tired  limbs  any  further,  but  when 
he  said,  "  Almost  there  now,  Eulalie !  "  they  re- 
sponded mechanically.  It  would  have  been  easy 
to  die  there,  under  the  cross  ;  she  had  suffered  so 
42 


33°  BOURBON  LILIES. 

much,  but  her  head  was  on  his  shoulder,  and  that 
was  so  sweet  that  she  could  not  die  just  then. 
And  so  she  walked  on,  feeling  that  she  could  have 
done  so  forever  in  despite  of  human  ache  and 
\v  eariness,  were  she  only  so  supported.  "  Here 
we  are,  Eulalie,"  said  Van,  as  they  paused  at  the 
door  of  her  little  shop,  which  she  seemed  not  to 
have  noticed. 

She  started  like  one  awakening  from  a  dream. 
"  Oh  !  not  here  —  not  here.  Take  me,  please,  to 
the  Mere  Angelique." 

"Not  his  mother,"  Van  said,  impulsively. 
"  Child,  you  should  be  the  last  to  carry  her  such 
news ;  I  will  tell  her  myself,  if  you  desire  it. 
Think,  she  is  his  mother,  and  in  the  first  burst  of 
unreasoning  grief,  may  hold  you  responsible  for 
events  beyond  your  control."  - 

"  She  will  be  just,"  said  Eulalie,  and  they  walked 
on. 

As  they  reached  the  little  gate-lodge,  the 
smoke  floating  above  the  chimney  told  that  the 
active  old  woman  was  already  stirring.  Van 
bade  Eulalie  good-by.  What  passed  between  the 
two  he  never  knew,  but  through  the  window  he 
saw  them  weeping  in  each  other's  arms. 

Mere  Angelique  was  just. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

DE   PROFUNDIS. 

And  the  sulphurous  rifts  of  passion  and  woe 
Lie  deep  'neath  a  silence,  pure  and  smooth, 
Like  burnt-out  craters  healed  with  snow. 

LOWELL. 

A  BOUT  a  week  after  the  tragedy  at  the 
chateau,  Van  found  among  his  letters  a 
neatly  addressed,  black-bordered  sheet,  inviting 
him  "  to  assist  at  an  expiatory  mass  in  behalf  of 
the  soul  of  Amedee  Du  Lac."  The  invitation 
bore  Eulalie's  name,  and  in  Gothic  characters,  at 
the  bottom  of  the  page,  were  the  words,  De  Pro- 
fundis. 

Van  asked  himself  how  he,  a  Protestant,  could 
conscientiously  pray  for  the  soul  of  one  already 
dead.  A  few  days  before  he  could  not  have  done 
so,  but  now  there  seemed  no  inconsistency  in  it. 
Was  not  Amede"e  somewhere  in  God's  universe  ? 
Was  it  not  limiting  God's  might  to  think  there 
was  anywhere  a  spot  His  power  could  not  reach  ? 

(33*  > 


332  BOURBON   LILIES. 


Was  it  not  limiting  His  mercy  to  think  that 
there  was  at  any  time  a  moment  when  prayer 
was  useless  ? 

There  were  few  present  at  the  mass.  In  one 
of  the  front  pews,  all  in  widow's  weeds,  knelt 
Eulalie.  By  her  side,  in  her  customary  dress, 
uncompromisingly  skeptical  as  ever,  sat  AmedeVs 
mother.  She  was  there  to  show  her  love  and 
sympathy  for  Eulalie  to  the  evil-thinking,  evil- 
speaking  villagers,  —  the  ceremony  was  all  mean- 
ingless mummery  to  her.  Van  knew  not  which 
to  honor  most  —  her  disbelief  or  Eulalie's  faith. 
Eulalie's  aunt  sat  with  the  other  women.  Among 
the  men,  he  at  first  recognized  but  one  face,  that 
of  Pere  Paquerette.  He  was  crying  weakly,  as 
usual,  with  reason,  perhaps,  on  this  occasion,  but 
Van  remembered  that  he  had  never  seen  a  funeral 
procession  pass  to  the  cemetery  without  Pere 
Paquerette  in  attendance.  He  certainly  fulfilled 
to  the  letter  our  Lord's  command  to  weep  with 
those  who  weep ;  that  he  rejoiced  more  seldom 
was  perhaps  owing  to  the  fact  that  joy  is  not  so 
levelling  an  emotion  as  grief,  and  those  experi- 
encing it  are  not  so  ready  to  ask  sympathy  from 
every  one.  Heine  has  expressed  the  idea  thus  : 

Every  one  can  mingle  tears, 
But  his  joy  can  none  discover 
Save  to  those  who  are  his  peers 


DE   PROFUNDIS.  333 


"  Miserere,  Domine,"  chanted  the  priest,  and 
some  one  tapped  Van  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 
Turning  he  recognized  his  young  friend,  Adolph 
Jean  Joseph,  the  Due  de  Champnoix's  talkative 
valet. 

"  I  was  not  invited,"  he  said  in  a  whisper 
which  woke  the  echoes  in  the  topmost  arch  of 
the  church,  "  but  I  heard  it  was  all  for  the  health 
of  my  old  companion,  Ame'dee,  so  I  thought  I 
would  just  drop  in,  and  wish  him  bon  voyage  with 
the  rest.  This  comes  from  his  fine  notions  about 
women  ;  he  ought  to  have  been  contented  to  take 
them  as  he  found  them.  They  are  all  alike." 

On  returning  to  his  studio,  after  the  mass, 
Van  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  his  sister 
Margaret,  with  whom,  in  time  past,  he  had  been 
used  to  share  all  his  emotions  and  aspirations. 
As  this  letter  gives  a  picture  of  the  young  man's 
feelings  at  this  time,  so  far  as  understood  by 
himself,  it  may  explain  his  subsequent  actions  if 
we  insert  it  here. 

ECOUEN,  May  zoth,  18  — . 

DARLING  SISTER  MARGEY  :  Will  you  be  horrifie-d  if 
I  tell  you  that  I  have  just  given  the  countenance  and 
approval  of  my  presence  to  a  mass  for  the  dead?  —  I, 
who  was  such  a  radical  "no  popery"  man  at  home. 
Don't  think  me  hypocritical  or  inconsistent.  Have 
you  ever  read  Guizot's  idea  of  a  man's  character?  He 


334  BOURBON  LILIES. 

says  something  like  this :  "  After  the  man  is  dead, 
and  his  biography  written,  we  sum  up  the  results  of 
the  experience  of  his  life,  and  at  last  think  that 
we  have  an  idea  of  what  the  man  really  was.  He 
might  have  been  this  an  hour  before  he  died,  but  not 
in  his  youth  or  in  his  mature  years.  Circumstance, 
emotions,  influences  within  and  without,  had  been 
going  on  all  his  life,  constantly  changing  the  man's 
character,  so  that  the  man  who  held  a  certain  theory 
when  he  left  his  college  was  really  a  totally  different 
man  from  the  one  who  held  opposite  views  at  fifty." 
Now  don't  say  that  I  am  stupid,  and  pretend  you 
can't  understand  what  I  am  driving  at.  I  feel  that  I 
am  undergoing  a  transformation ;  I  am  not  the  same 
boy  that  you  bade  good-by  to  on  the  docks.  Don't 
tremble  forme,  Margey,  if  I  have  changed ;  you  may  at 
least  be  certain  that  it  is  because  I  think  1  have  found 
a  better  way.  I  have  come  to  believe  that  even  the 
Catholic  religion  has,  in  its  purity,  as  ennobling  and  as 
elevating  a  power  as  our  own.  J  have  been  studying 
history  of  late,  and  admire  and  respect  the  first  lord 
of  the  castle  under  whose  shadow  I  have  lived  so  long, 
the  grand  old  Due  de  Montmorenci,  Constable  of 
France.  What  if  he  fought  vigorously  in  the  wars  of 
religion  for  the  Catholic  side,  persecuting  the  Hugue- 
nots, whom  we  call  martyrs;  he  was  only  a  second 
Saul  of  Tarsus,  doing  it  for  conscience'  sake.  Read 
his  counsel  to  the  king,  when  Charles  V.,  the  enemy 
cf  France,  was  in  his  power :  "  Better  to  lose  a  kingdom 
than  break  your  word."  No  wonder  that,  dying,  he 
could  say  to  his  confessor,  "  Do  you  think  I  have  lived 
eighty  years  with  honor,  not  to  be  able  to  die  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  ? "  I  have  taken  him  for  my 
example  in  one  thing — tolerance.  Did  you  know 
that  the  fiery  old  Huguenot,  Palissy,  was  one  of  his 
closest  friends !  That  he  saved  his  life,  procured  his 
freedom  from  the  king,  and,  through  Catherine  de 
Medicis,  the  title  of  Inventor  of  the  Rustic  Potteries 


DE   PROFUNDIS.  335 

to  the  King  and  Queen  Mother  ?  He  was  the  first  ta 
patronize  him  afterward,  setting  the  example  to  other 
wealthy  nobles,  by  ordering  for  this  very  castle  oi 
Ecouen  a  grotto  of  faience.  In  the  basin  of  the  foun- 
tain were  portrayed  eels,  wriggling  in  the  current ; 
spotted  trout  basking  in  the  sun;  dark,  wary  carps, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  rock,  only  waiting  for  the 
reflection  of  a  fishing-rod  to  dart  away ;  pointed-nosed 
pike,  lampreys  and  turbot,  perch  and  salmon,  plaice 
and  tench,  slipping  in  loving  fraternity  over  the  shell 
mosaic  of  the  bed  of  the  pool ;  while  on  the  margin, 
frogs  were  poised  in  the  act  of  springing,  as  though 
frightened  at  your  approach ;  lizards  and  salamanders 
were  sunning  themselves  on  stones  that  projected 
from  the  water;  crawfish  opened  their  scissor-like 
claws,  with  the  amiable  intention  of  amputating  their 
friends'  unnecessary  members ;  snakes  lay  coiled  up 
asleep ;  and  vines,  among  which  snails  clambered  and 
birds  darted,  filled  the  whole  concavity  of  the  vault 
with  their  leaves  and  fruit. 

To  oversee  this  work,  Palissy  must  have  spent  a 
great  deal  of  time  at  the  chateau.  Do  you  suppose 
that  he  and  the  old  duke  enlivened  the  visit  by  hurl- 
ing arguments  and  dogmas  and  anathemas  at  each 
other?  I  believe  that  Palissy  was  so  suffused  with 
the  primal  religion  of  the  garden  of  Eden,  was  so 
much  in  love  with  the  God  of  nature,  the  Father  of  all 
His  creatures,  and  the  duke  had  so  lifted  himself  above 
the  credo  of  his  breviary  into  the  spiritual  life  of  the 
Universal  Church,  that  they  met  as  on  common 
ground,  and  quite  forgot  that  there  was  any  differences 
of  belief  between  them. 

I  know  those  wars  of  religion,  and  the  sturdy 
whacks  he  gave  the  other  poor  Huguenots,  are  rather 
a  strong  argument  against  this  view  of  the  case  ;  but 
then,  after  all,  they  were  partly  political  affairs,  and 
perhaps  he  looked  upon  them  as  entirely  such.  How- 
ever this  may  be,  I  have  found  a  friend,  whose  religion 


BOURBON  LILIES. 


though  Catholic,  is  so  spiritual  and  real,  that  I  know 
of  nothing  better  to  suggest  in  its  place.  I  hardly 
dare  to  think,  Margey,  what  this  friend  may  be  to  me 
some  day,  for  I  have  changed  in  more  than  one  respect. 
I  have  only  just  become  conscious  of  it  ;  the  trans- 
formation has  been  so  gradual,  and  I  cannot  tell  just 
when 

"  Love,  with  shut  wings,  a  little  ungrown  love, 
A  blind  lost  love,  alit  on  my  shut  heart." 

I"  cannot  tell  whether  this  love  of  mine  will  blossom 
into  blessedness  ;  I  cannot  even  ask,  for  she  sits  under 
the  shadow  of  a  great  grief,  a  grief  which  I  unwillingly 
and  unconsciously  had  some  share  in  causing.  But 
the  time  will  come  when  I  can  and  will  speak,  and 
until  that  time  I  can  keep  "my  shut  heart"  hidden 
under  "a  silence  calm  and  smooth."  Until  I  write 
you  again  of  this,  dear  Margey,  you  may  keep  my 
secret  for  me  as  you  have  so  many  others.  If  you 
never  hear  of  the  subject  again,  think  of  these  confi- 
dences as  I  do  of  the  holes  in  my  stockings,  as  mere 
"airy  nothings."  You  see  that,  in  spite  of  my  uncer- 
tainty, I  cannot  be  sad.  I  wish  you  could  look  from 
my  studio  window  with  me  —  such  glorious  clouds! 
It  has  been  storming  all  day,  but  now  I  think  there 
is  a  rainbow  coming. 

Ever  lovingly,  your  brother 

VAN. 

Two  days  after  writing  this  letter,  as  Van 
sauntered  across  the  village  place,  with  his  eyes 
directed  to  their  usual  lodestone,  Eulalie's  shop 
window,  he  saw,  to  his  utter  astonishment,  that  it 
was  closed,  barred,  and  the  placard  "  A  Louer  " 
fastened  conspicuously  on  the  shutters.  Eulalie 
had  gone.  He  inquired  of  the  neighbors  ;  none 


DE   PROFUNDIS.  337 

could  give  him  any  information,  further  than  that 
Pere  Paquerette  had  remained  with  M.  Bonenfant, 
the  keeper  of  the  Esperance.  Van  went  to  him 
at  once,  but  he  evidently  knew  nothing  as  to  the 
whereabouts  of  his  sister-in-law  and  niece ;  all  thai 
he  could  tell  was  that  they  had  taken  everything 
and  gone  to  Paris,  and  had  promised,  if  all  went 
well,  to  send  for  him  in  a  year's  time.  This  in- 
formation, indefinite  as  it  was,  gave  Van  hope. 
He  would  keep  track  of  Pere  Paquerette ;  what- 
ever befell,  here,  at  least,  was  a  link  with  Eulalie. 
He  could  not  feel  that  he  had  lost  her  forever. 

Eulalie's  sudden  departure  created  no  very 
great  surprise :  it  seemed  the  one  natural  thing 
for  her  to  do.  Amddee's  mother  might  forgive 
her  —  even  believe  in  her  still  —  but  the  vil- 
lagers did  not.  The  shadow  of  suspicion,  a  doubt 
alone,  even  a  lie  lived  down,  and  proved  beyond 
possibility  of  question  to  be  a  lie,  is  enough  to 
blacken  a  girl's  life  in  France.  While  the  artist 
part  of  the  community,  and  those  of  the  upper 
class  who  knew  her,  still  believed  in  Eulalie, 
she  was  insulted  and  scorned  on  every  side  by 
those  of  her  own  condition  in  life.  The  Mere 
Angelique  knew  she  was  going,  and  approved 
of  it  She  did  not  even  ask  where.  "  I  shall 

43 


338  BOURBON  LILIES. 

miss  thee  sadly,  my  child,"  she  said,  "  but  it  will 
be  better  for  thee." 

And  Eulalie  had  another  reason  for  leaving, 
which  she  did  not  tell  even  to  the  Mere  Ange- 
lique.  Her  quick  woman's  instinct  had  told  her 
that  Van  did  not  love  her,  and  since  that  long 
weird  walk,  she  dared  trust  herself  in  his  society 
no-  longer;  she  only  hoped  that  she  had  not 
already  betrayed  herself.  She  was  too  tired  and 
weak  to  battle  any  longer,  and  she  felt  in  a  blind 
way  that  her  only  safety  was  in  flight.  Peace 
came  to  her,  too,  as  she  left  the  little  village  in 
which  she  had  suffered  so  much.  The  summer 
was  all  about  her,  the  very  air  was  full  of  balm 
and  happiness ;  Ecouen  dwindled  smaller  and 
smaller  as  they  rode  away  from  it,  and  the  great 
white  road  swept  on  in  front,  leading  the  way  to 
a  new  and  wider  world.  She  felt  as  if  Thomas 
a-Kempis  might  have  something  to  say  to  her 
now,  and  drawing  the  little  book  from  her  pocket 
she  read, — 

"Whatever  comes  upon  thee,  calmly  endure 
it  for  the  glory  of  Jesus  Christ ;  for  after  winter 
followeth  summer ;  after  night  the  day  returneth, 
and  after  a  tempest  a  great  calm." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

FRIENDSHIP    STRONGER   THAN    LOVE. 


Thy  love  to  me  was  wonderful,  passing  the  love  of  women.  — 
2  SAMUEL  i.  26. 


the  morning  that  Van  had  learned  of 
Eulalie's  departure,  he  had,  just  before 
crossing  the  village  place,  dropped  a  letter  into 
the  post-office.  This  letter  was  for  Orsovitch, 
giving  the  tragic  ending,  at  the  Chateau  de  la 
Chasse,  of  the  little  drama  in  which  they  had 
acted.  Having  given  these  details,  he  touched 
at  the  close  of  the  letter  another  subject.  "  I 
wonder,"  he  said,  "if  you  remember  a  queer 
genius  that  we  met  at  Mamma  Robusti's  fete,  a 
Mr.  Norman  Saxon  Goth,  a  connoisseur  of  antiq- 
uities. Comedy  and  tragedy  go  hand -in -hand, 
and  it  is  really  comical  to  see  how  that  precious 
scamp  has  been  fooling  the  wise-heads  of  Ecouen. 
There  is  scarcely  an  artist  that  has  not  been 
taken  in,  in  some  way.  It  seems  that  Papa 
Robusti  bought  that  portrait  of  Charlotte  de 

(339) 


340  BOURBON  LILIES. 

Montmorenci  from  him,  supposing  it  to  be  by  one 
of  the  old  Flemish  masters.  M.  Dupinceau  saw 
it  the  other  day,  and  swears  that  the  face  is 
one  that  he  began  from  the  Mary  in  the  Raphael 
window  in  the  church,  and  finished  from  our 
little  Eulalie.  She  was  sitting  at  the  window  of 
tne  gate  lodge,  making  her  flowers  and  chatting 
with  Mere  Ang&ique  one  day,  when  he  happened 
to  be  painting  in  the  garden.  He  thought  he  saw 
a  resemblance,  and  she  served  him  unconsciously 
as  a  model  while  he  put  the  finishing  touches  to 
the  face.  This  sketch  Mr.  Goth  called  not  long 
after  and  bought,  as  it  was,  for  a  mere  song.  He 
evidently  hired  some  Paris  artist  to  put  in  the 
rest  of  the  figure,  and  the  costume  (and  that 
motto  about  the  lilies,  which  never  had  anything 
to  do  with  the  Cond^s),  then  clapped  it  into  an 
old  Dutch  frame,  picked  up  at  some  auction,  and 
foisted  it  off  on  to  Papa  Robusti  for  as  many  hun- 
dreds as  the  whole  thing  cost  him  in  dollars. 
This  is  only  a  sample  of  his  neat  little  specula- 
tions. I  hope  you  haven't  suffered,  but  Miss 
Pauline  Pry  seems  to  think  you  have.  She  called 
on  me  yesterday,  and  asked  me  if  Mr.  Goth  did 
not  have  something  to  do  with  your  sudden  trip 
to  Brussels.  As  you  never  enlightened  me  as  to 
the  cause  of  that  escapade,  I  was  unable  to  afford 


FRIENDSHIP  STRONGER  THAN  LOVE.       341 

any  relief  to  the  overburdened  curiosity  of  that 
venerable  damsel.  She  informed  me,  with  many 
mysterious  and  solemn  shakes  of  the  head,  which 
set  her  jet  ear-rings  jingling  (until  they  reminded 
me  more  and  more  of  the  iron  crane,  with  its 
numerous  pot-hook  pendants,  in  my  grandmother's 
kitchen  fire-place),  that  when  Mr.  Goth  returned 
to  the  hotel  with  her  sister,  from  a  call  which 
they  had  made  upon  you,  he  borrowed  of  her  a 
small  graving  tool,  and  went  down  to  his  room  in 
the  story  below.  Her  sister's  account  of  what 
had  happened  at  your  studio  so  excited  her  curi- 
osity that  she  partially  removed  a  board  which 
covered  an  aperture  in  her  floor,  originally  used 
for  a  stove-pipe  from  a  stove  in  the  room  below, 
and  which  has  since  served  her  in  good  stead  a? 
a  listening-tube  and  loophole  of  observation  on 
her  unsuspecting  neighbors ;  and  fitting  her  eye 
to  the  crevice  thus  formed,  she  had  a  capital 
view  of  the  bald  spot  on  the  top  of  Mr.  Goth's 
head,  and  of  his  private  papers,  which  lay  upon 
his  desk  directly  beneath.  She  says  that  he  first 
effaced  every  trace  of  the  shield  within  the  watch 
case,  and  then,  opening  a  book  of  heraldic  designs, 
to  that  of  the  escutcheon  of  the  Prince  de  Conde, 
carefully  engraved  it  in  the  vacant  space.  The 
woman  has  the  eyes  of  a  hawk,  but  she  says  she  was 


342  -        BOURBON  LILIES. 

greatly  assisted  in  her  observations  by  her  sister 
Precosia,  who  fished  her  opera-glass  from  the 
depths  of  her  trunk,  and,  lying  on  the  floor  beside 
her,  confirmed  all  of  her  discoveries.  She  was 
very  much  disappointed  that  you  were  not  here, 
says  that  she  called  the  next  day  after  the  occur- 
rence, but  you  had  gone  to  Brussels,  and  she 
had  not  heard  of  your  return  until  a  day  or  two 
since.  Now,  the  question  in  my  mind  is,  Is  the 
woman  crazy  ?  Can  you  see  the  slightest  gleam  of 
reason  in  her  story  ?  I  'm  blessed  if  I  do." 

What  was  Van's  surprise  to  receive  in  reply 
to  his  letter  the  following  telegram  : 

"  Have  G.  arrested ;  detain  the  P.'s  as  witnesses ; 
will  be  in  Ecouen  next  week." 

Mr.  Goth  had  left  for  parts  unknown,  so  that 
all  Van  could  do  was  to  persuade  the  Misses  Pry 
to  remain  awhile  in  Ecouen. 

Orsovitch  arrived  at  last.  He  entered  the 
studio  as  abruptly  as  though  he  had  only  been 
across  the  street ;  and,  laying  his  hand  on  Van's 
shoulder,  asked,  without  any  word  of  greeting,  — 

"  Where  is  Eulalie  ?  " 

"  She  has  gone,"  Van  replied. 

"Gone,  I  know  it;  I  have  just  come  from  her 
shop,  —  but*  where  ?  And  why  did  you  not  men- 
tion this  in  your  letter? " 


FRIENDSHIP  STRONGER  'lHAN  LOVE.       343 

"  Because  I  did  not  know  it  myself  then,  and 
now  I  know  no  more  where  she  is  than  you  do." 

Orsovitch  groaned  ;  and  then,  putting  aside  all 
reserve,  he  confided  fully  in  his  friend :  how  he 
had  loved  her  so  long ;  all  the  fierce  battle  which 
he  had  fought  with  himself,  and  his  double  defeat. 
"Since  I  have  been  at  home,"  he  said,  "my 
father  has  died.  His  death  was  very  sudden,  no  one 
expected  it ;  it  was  perhaps  a  greater  shock  than 
grief  to  both  my  mother  and  myself,  but  it  drew  us 
nearer  together  than  we  have  ever  been  before ; 
and  when  your  letter  came,  and  showed  me  how 
I  had  been  deceived,  and  how  I  had  wronged 
Eulalie,  attributing  to  her  what  I  should  have 
known  if  I  had  not  been  a  consummate  fool,  was 
all  that  rascal  Goth's  doings,  —  I  told  the  whole 
story  to  my  mother.  '  You  have  wronged  her 
more  deeply  than  her  peasant  lover,'  said  she ; 
'  evidently  she  is  of  good  family,  though  she  may 
not  be  a  Princess  de  Bourbon,  or  a  Montmorenci ; 
that  will  be  difficult  to  prove,  however,  since  her 
coat  of  arms  has  been  tampered  with.  That,  too, 
is  all  your  fault ;  you  owe  her  every  restitution  in 
your  power.  I  do  not  know  that  marrying  for 
rank  has  ever  brought  me  any  happiness,  and  I 
cannot  counsel  you  to  a  similar  course.  Since  your 
father's  death  you  are  perfectly  free  to  act  your 


344  BOURBON   LILIES. 

own  pleasure,  and  I  do  not  see  that  anything  hin 
ders  you  from  marrying  this  girl ;  indeed,  it  seems 
to  me  that  every  honorable  instinct  within  you 
demands  that  you  should  at  least  offer  her  your 
hand.'  I  look  at  the  matter  just  as  my  mother 
does,  and  I  call  upon  you,  Van,  to  lend  me  your 
aid  ;  together  we  will  search  the  whole  world  over 
till  we  find  her." 

Van  had  grown  strangely  pale  during  his 
friend's  recital.  "  And  after  you  have  found  her, 
what  if  she  does  not  love  you  ? "  he  asked. 

"  She  does,"  said  Orsovitch  confidently ;  "  I 
know  she  does." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Van,  "  I  will  do  all  in  my 
power  to  aid  you." 

For  days  and  weeks  the  two  friends  searched. 
Adolph  had  enlisted  as  a  volunteer  about  the 
time  that  Eulalie  disappeared.  They  visited  Pere 
Paquerette.  The  old  man  had  heard  nothing 
from  the  fugitives,  and  for  some  inexplicable 
reason  he  believed  that  they  had  gone  to  America. 
He  only  hoped  that  no  harm  would  come  to  them 
there,  it  was  such  a  savage  country,  with  elephants 
running  around  wild,  he  was  told.  They  called 
to  their  aid  the  police  of  Paris,  and  were  assured 
that  there  were  none  answering  to  their  descrip 
tion  in  the  city.  Acting  on  Pere  Paquerette's  sur 


FRIENDSHIP  STRONGER  THAN  LOVE.       345 

mise,  they  searched  the  lists  of  steamer  passengers 
since  the  date  of  Eulalie's  disappearance.  Van  felt 
that  in  any  event,  the  result  of  the  search  would 
be  misery  to  him,  but  he  worked  none  the  less 
earnestly  for  that.  On  the  passenger  list  of  the 
ill-fated  Britannic,  lost  in  the  fog  off  New  Found- 
land,  was  the  record,  Madame  Delacroix  and 
daughter.  This  was  the  name  of  Eulalie's  aunt, 
and  Orsovitch  exclaimed,  with  all  the  certainty  of 
despair,  "  It  is  they  ;  she  is  drowned  !  "  "  Wait," 
said  Van,  "  many  of  the  passengers  were  rescued  ; 
the  American  papers  at  my  banker's  will  give 
the  list." 

Eagerly  they  looked  it  over  together.  With  a 
trembling  finger  Orsovitch  pointed  to  the  name  of 
the  mother  only,  among  the  saved.  They  needed 
no  further  proof,  and  the  two  young  men  sat  and 
looked  at  each  other,  with  something  of  the  same 
expression  in  the  eyes  of  both.  Orsovitch  rallied 
first  from  the  shock.  "  I  must  travel,"  he  said. 
"  Good  -by,  old  boy,  I  'm  off  for  Central  Asia, 
shall  keep  on  like  the  Wandering  Jew ;  perhaps 
I  shall  reach  America  after  awhile,  and  give  a  rap 
it  California,  the  golden  knocker  that  the  United 
States  so  extravagantly  displays  at  its  back  door." 
Van  wrung  his  hand  silently,  and  went  back  to 
Ecouen  ;  but  he  could  not  work,  the  whole  place 

44 


34-6  BOURBON  LILIES. 

teemed  with  memories  of  her:  the  church,  the 
castle,  the  village,  art  itself.  The  atmosphere 
acted  upon  him  like  a  powerful  opiate ;  he  lived 
only  in  sweet,  melancholy  dreams,  in  a  series  of 
retrospective  pictures.  He  felt  the  need  of  a 
change  of  scene,  and  more  stirring  and  stimulat- 
ing surroundings,  and  the  next  letter  which  his 
sister  Margey  received,  after  the  one  quoted  in 
the  last  chapter,  announced  his  intention  of  a 
speedy  return. 

Just  before  leaving  France,  late  one  rainy  even- 
ing, on  alighting  from  an  omnibus  in  Paris,  he 
was  cheered  by  hearing  the  welcome  croak, 
" Mar-r-r-r-chand  de  parapluies  /"  As  he  bought 
an  umbrella,  a  young  girl  passed  rapidly  by,  and 
kept  steadily  at  the  same  distance  ahead  of  him 
for  a  block  or  two,  as  he  pursued  his  way  toward 
the  Hotel  des  Trois  Princes.  She  had  no  um- 
brella, and  the  rain  threw  up  little  splashes  of 
tawny  water  from  the  asphalt  pavement  against 
her  neat  boots  and  cloak.  He  hastened  his  steps, 
and  offered  his  umbrella,  intending  to  return  to 
the  vendor,  who  was  still  croaking  through  the 
fog,  "  Mar-r-r-r-r-chand  de  parapluies  I ' ' 

"  Merci,  m'sieur,"  said  a  familiar  voice,  "but  I 
have  a  waterproof." 

The  recognition  was  mutual ;  it  was  Eulalie. 


FRIENDSHIP  STRONGER  THAN  LOVE.       347 

"  O,  Mr.  Van,"  said  she,  "  I  believe  Our  Lady 
of  Sorrows  sent  you  to  me  to-night.  I  can  not 
support  aunt  and  myself  here  in  Paris  with  my 
flowers.  If  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  the 
addresses  of  some  of  your  artist  friends,  perhaps 
I  can  obtain  employment  as  a  model." 

They  had  taken  the  common  name  of  Lepine, 
and  had  been  in  Paris  all  the>time.  Van  did  not 
tell  her  of  his  search,  but,  giving  her  the  ad- 
dresses she  wished,  saw  her  to  her  home,  and 
returned  to  his  room  to  think.  What  ought  he  to 
do?  Tell  her  the  truth,  and  urge  her  to  go  to 
America  with  him  ?  He  felt  that  this  simple  flower- 
girl  would  make  a  wife  that  he  would  he  proud  to 
present  in  any  society.  And  then  he  thought  of 
Orsovitch.  His  love  was  an  honorable  one,  too, 
and  he  had  the  first  right.  But  what  was  there 
to  prevent  his  arguing  his  own  claims  ?  He  would 
tell  her  that  Orsovitch  loved  her,  too,  and  she 
should  choose  between  them.  Yet,  however 
warmly  he  advocated  his  friend's  cause,  he  knew 
that  if  Eulalie  chose  him,  Orsovitch  would  think 
that  he  had  taken  an  unfair  advantage,  and  in  the 
other  event — he  could  not  bear  that  his  friend  or 
Eulalie  should  know  what  thought  had  been  in  his 
heart.  "  The  setting  of  a  great  hope  is  like  the 
setting  of  the  sun,"  yet  crushing  his  own  heart 


348  BOURBON  LILIES. 

he  wrote  to  Orsovitch,  "  Eulalie  is  found  ! "  He 
gave  him  her  address,  wished  him  all  happiness, 
and,  having  no  other  direction,  sent  the  letter  to 
Russia  in  the  care  of  his  mother. 

When  he  called  on  Eulalie  to  bid  her  good-by, 
he  found  her  cheerful  with  the  prospect  of  work. 
Her  aunt  had  obtained  the  position  of  concierge 
in  the  Hotel  Carlotta,  where  they  had  been  stay- 
ing. "And  now,"  said  Eulalie,  "we  shall  get 
along  grandly." 

He  did  not  give  her  any  hint  of  Orsovitch.  It 
will  be  best  as  a  surprise,  he  thought,  and  he  left 
her,  promising  to  put  her  in  his  salon  painting 
when  next  he  came  to  Europe.  Eulalie  was  found, 
but  for  Van,  "All  was  lost — save  honor." 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

LE  JOUR  DES   MORTS. 

And  the  dark  will  grow  to  light, 

But  the  light  will  not  pass  away. 
We  part,  we  part  jn  the  mirk  midnight, 

But  we  shall  meet  i '  the  day. 

DORA  GREENWELL. 

A  -KEMPIS,  Eulalie's  favorite  author,  has 
said,  "  By  two  wings  a  man  is  lifted  up  from 
things  earthly,  namely :  by  Simplicity  and  Purity." 
Eulalie,  thus  winged,  lived  through  the  long 
summer;  why,  she  could  hardly  have  told,  there 
seemed  so  little  left  to  live  for.  Her  aunt  did  not 
need  her ;  the  office  of  concierge  was  a  comforta- 
ble berth  for  her,  and  so  Eulalie's  earnings,  after 
deducting  the  small  amount  necessary  for  her  own 
support,  went  to  Pere  Paquerette.  She  missed 
him,  and  wrote  for  him  to  come  to  see  her,  and 
the  old  man  came  not  unfrequently,  never  betray- 
ing her  whereabouts  to  the  inhabitants  of  Ecouen. 
She  found  but  one  of  her  old-time  friends  in 
Paris,  and  that  was  wild  Zizi;  wild  no  longer, 

(349) 


350  BOURBON   LILIES. 

except  in  a  reckless,  rattling  mode  of  speech, 
which  she  kept  up  from  force  of  habit.  Whenever 
she  heard  that  Eulalie  was  not  engaged  elsewhere, 
she  spent  the  day  with  her,  bringing  the  materials 
for  her  mourning  flowers,  and  Eulalie  worked 
with  her,  thus  often  doubling  Zizi's  earnings, 
while  they  chatted  pleasantly  of  old  times.  But 
Eulalie's  nature  craved  more  sympathetic  food 
than  this,  and  was  slowly  starving.  One  day  in 
golden  October,  as  the  two  girls  sat  together  in 
the  window  of  the  office,  the  only  place  in  that 
dark  first-floor  room  where  they  could  find  light 
enough  for  their  work,  Eulalie  said,  wearily, 
"  Nothing  but  jet  beads,  Zizi ;  I  thought  jet  was 
( going  out  of  fashion." 

"  So  it  is,"  replied  the  other;  " nobody  wears 
jet  any  longer;  why,  we  can't  even  palm  it  off 
on  the  Americans,  and  I  should  think  by  the 
pictures  that  they  must  wear  little  else  beside  beads 
when  at  home.  How  strange  it  is  that,  here  in 
Europe,  they  change  not  only  their  costume,  but 
their  complexions.  Do  you  suppose  they  paint 
now?" 

"  I  never  knew  but  one  American,"  replied 
Eulalie,  "and  I  don't  believe  he  painted.  But, 
seriously,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  these 
flowers  ? " 


LE  JOUR  DES  MORTS.  351 

"  Oh,  we  had  a  large  order  for  them  from 
Germany  to  rig  out  the  widows  made  in  our  war. 
It  will  be  a  very  profitable  affair  for  us,  for  those 
Prussian  women  are  immense,  and  it  will  take 
yards  and  yards  of  crape  to  make  flowers  enough 
to  cover  one  bonnet ;  and  then  there  were  those 
Barrels  of  jet  in  the  cellar,  that  no  one  knew  what 
to  do  with.  I  'd  like  to  weight  down  their  plumes 
with  cartridges,  and  give  them  a  delicate  sprink- 
ling of  gunpowder.  They  would  wear  anything 
we  sent  them,  for  they  know  that  nothing  is  in 
good  taste  unless  it  is  French.  How  hideous  they 
will  look  in  black,  for  mourning  is  always  un- 
becoming to  blondes ;  so  much  the  better.  I 
enjoy  filling  this  order  far  more  than  making  the 
mortuary  wreaths  for  the  cemeteries;  but  they 
must  be  made  soon,  for  the  Jour  des  Morts  is 
almost  here,  and  after  that  natural  flowers  on 
graves  will  no  longer  be  fashionable." 

The  Jour  des  Morts.  It  seemed  a  whole  life- 
time since  the  last  one,  when  Pere  Paquerette 
came  back  from  the  burying-ground,  and  said  he 
had  had  a  long  talk  with  a  pleasant  foreigner, 
who  had  given  him  money  to  buy  garlands  for 
their  graves,  only  he  had  spent  it  at  the  Espe- 
rance.  She  had  made  inquiries  and  ascertained 
that  the  pleasant  gentleman  was  called  Monsieur1 


35 2  BOURBON  LILIES. 

Van,  and  that  was  the  first  she  had  heard  of  him. 
She  was  thinking  over  the  events  of  the  past 
year,  and  did  not  hear  Zizi,  who  still  went  on. 

"Do  you  know  how  one  young  woman  of 
talent  provided  herself  with  a  jet  cuirass  when 
tney  first  came  in  fashion  ?  She  went  to  Pere 
la  Chaise  on  the  Jour  des  Morts,  and  for  several 
days  after,  knelt  around  wherever  she  saw  a 
grave  well  provided  with  souvenirs,  and  a  little 
apart  from  observers ;  and  when  she  left  the 
cemetery,  the  arm  under  her  cloak  was  covered 
with  wreaths  in  jet  flowers.  It  only  needed 
three  or  four  visits  of  that  kind  to  glean  enough 
to  make  a  costume  stiff  enough  to  turn  the  balls 
of  a  regiment  of  sharpshooters." 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  the  cemetery  this  Jour 
de*  Morts"  thought  Eulalie,  "but  every  one  will 
be  there ;  I  shall  have  to  content  myself  by  send- 
ing some  flowers  to  Pere  Paquerette,  to  place  on 
my  mother's  grave  for  me ;  I  could  not  trust  him 
to  buy  them,  poor  man."  As  the  thought  passed 
through  Eulalie's  mind,  she  raised  her  head,  and 
saw,  coming  down  the  street,  Pere  Paquerette 
himself.  She  rose  to  meet  him,  wondering  what 
could  have  brought  him  that  day,  he  could  not 
need  money  again  so  soon.  She  was  still  more 
startled  when  she  heard  his  errand.  "Mere  An- 


LE  JOUR  DES  MORTS.  353 

gelique  is  dying,"  said  Pere  Paquerette;  "she  has 
fought  the  fever  a  long  time,  and  now  that  it  has 
left  her,  she  has  not  the  strength  to  get  well. 
When  they  told  me  that,  I  did  not  say  anything 
to  any  one,  but  just  took  my  stick  and  set  out 
for  Paris  and  Eulalie." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Eulalie,  putting  a  few  articles, 
which  she  thought  might  be  useful,  into  a  hand 
bag,  "I  will  go  with  you  at  once." 

"  And  if  you  need  it,"  said  Zizi,  "  I  will  make 
you  the  handsomest  funeral  wreath  I  know  how, 
and  send  it  out  to  whomsoever  you  will  say  at 
Ecouen." 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  by  way  of  Montmo- 
renci,"  said  Pere  Paquerette,  as  they  started ; 
"I  have  an  errand  there,  and  I  forgot  it  as  I 
came  in.  It  is  a  longer  way,  but  the  train  leaves 
for  that  station  first." 

They  had  attended  to  Pere  Paquerette's  com- 
mission, and  were  walking  on  through  the  beauti- 
ful landscape  together,  Montmorenci  among  the 
cherries.  When  Eulalie  was  here  last  every  tree 
was  a  bridal  bouquet,  and  now  the  wind  that 
shivered  through  each  spoke  only  of  coming 
death.  There,  in  the  wood,  a  little  apart  from 
the  road,  but  plainly  visible  from  it,  stood  the 
deserted  hermitage  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau. 
45 


354  BOURBON   LILIES. 

"  Mon  donjon  a  Montmorenci,"  he  calls  it  in  his 
Confessions.  It  had  the  air  of  a  haunted  man- 
sion, or  rather  of  one  untenanted,  even  by  spirits, 
but  waiting,  forlorn  and  lonely,  for  the  return  of 
the  gentle  Jean  Jacques.  The  wild  flowers  that 
he  loved  grew  mojre  lush  and  rank  than  ever  in 
the  wood  ;  Eulalie  knew  them  by  heart  from 
frequent  excursions,  and  Rousseau  tells  us  how 
botany  was  his  favorite  passion,  —  his  first  love. 
"  It  is  the  only  pastime,"  he  says,  "  for  a  philoso- 
pher and  an  idler."  With  his  volume  of  Linnaeus 
for  letter  of  introduction,  he  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  all  his  little  neighbors,  calling  on  them 
again  and  again,  and  never  making  a  record  of 
his  analyses,  in  order  that  by  forgetting  them  he 
might  have  the  pleasure  of  finding  out  anew  their 
names  and  lineage.  A  Don  Juan  among  flowers 
was  Jean  Jacques,  for  each  new  blossom  filled 
him  with  the  same  ardent  passion,  but  he  loved 
best  to  discover  his  flower-loves  in  their  own  wild 
homes ;  a  garden  with  beds  of  bloom  was  his 
abhorrence,  and  he  writes  that  he  would  sooner 
attend  the  operations  of  the  dissecting  room, 
than  steal  away  oots  and  bark  and  seeds,  and 
even  the  sweet  blossoms  themselves,  to  dry  for 
simples  for  human  ailments.  Eulalie  had  read 
all  this,  and  it  invested  her  love  of  flowers,  which 


LE  JOUR  DES  MORTS.  355 

had  previously  been  only  an  artistic  one,  with 
something  more  of  poetry,  and  she  never  passed 
the  hermitage  without  a  kindly  thought  for  the 
unhappy  philosopher  and  his  flower  children. 
"  If  it  were  not  so  late  in  the  season,  I  would 
gather  some  of  Rousseau's  flowers  for  the  Mere 
Angelique,"  she  thought,  and  then,  as  they  came 
out  of  the  wood  and  walked  between  fields  so 
brown  and  sere,  she  remembered  Van's  picture 
of  the  Mere  Angelique,  seated  at  the  roadside, 
against  such  a  background,  and  waiting  for  the 
reapers.  What  ailed  Pere  Paquerette  too,  that 
as  they  left  the  forest,  he  should  look  over  his 
shoulder  toward  the  Chateau  de  la  Chasse,  and 
sing  with  his  cracked  voice. 

"  Viens  creuser  mon  tombeau, 
Pre's  des  bois  verts,  et  des  lilas  en  fleurs." 

Mere  Angelique  was  conscious  and  looked  up 
with  such  a  pleasant  smile  on  recognizing  who 
had  come,  that  at  first  Eulalie  was  deceived,  and 
thought  that  Pere  Paquerette  was  mistaken,  and 
that  she  would  recover.  But  the  old  man's 
judgment  was  correct.  Mere  Angelique  had 
borne  a  fearful  mental  and  physical  strain,  and 

"  Overstrung  may  be  the  bow,  all  stringing  o'er." 

For  several  days  she  lingered,  and  Eulalie  never 


356  BOURBON   LILIES. 

left  her ;  day  and  night  she  hung  over  the  dear 
old  face.  Sometimes  Eulalie  read  to  her  from  the 
"Imitation  of  Christ,"  for  Mere  Angelique  had 
flatly  refused  to  see  the  priest,  who  came  with 
the  host,  and  little  Mimi  was  much  distressed  be- 
cause now  there  would  be  no  more  sacraments, 
for  Father  Francis  Xavier  had  said  that  the  Mere 
Angelique  had  trampled  upon  the  last  one. 

Eulalie  could  not  see  that  she  took  any  interest 
in  what  she  read,  or  even  listened  to  it,  until  her 
hand  tightened  upon  her  own,  at  the  following : 

"  Let  all  doctors  hold  their  peace ;  let  all  crea- 
tures be  silent  in  Thy  sight ;  speak  Thou  alone 
unto  me. 

"  It  wearieth  me  often,  to  read  and  hear  many 
things ;  in  Thee  is  all  that  I  would  have  and  can 
desire." 

"Mere  Angelique,"  said  Eulalie,  "if  you  do 
not  wish  to  take  God  at  second  hand,  will  you 
not  pray  to  him  yourself  ?" 

The  Mere  Angelique  shook  her  head ;  "  I  shall 
see  God  face  to  face  very  soon,  little  Eulalie,  and 
I  shall  have  all  eternity  in  which  to  tell  him  all 
I  want ;  but  I  shall  not  be  with  you  very  much 
longer,  and  I  would  rather  use  what  strength  I 
have  left  in  talking  with  you." 

After  this,  Eulalie  did  not  vex  her  any  more. 


LE  JOUR  DES  MORTS.  357 

but  one  day  she  made  a  request  to  be  read  to,  of 
her  own  accord.  "  Mr.  Van's  little  book,"  she 
said,  and  Charlotte,  opening  Mere  Angelique's 
chest,  took  out  a  little  French  Testament.  "  Mon- 
sieur Van  gave  it  to  grand'mere  with  some  -other 
things,  before  he  went  away,  and  grand'mere 
always  said  you  were  to  have  it  with  her  Saint 
Esprit  ear-rings." 

Eulalie  opened  the  book  where  a  leaf  was 
turned  down,  and  read,  "Him  that  cometh  to  me 
I  will  in  nowise  cast  out." 

"  I  come,"  said  Mere  Angelique,  in  a  voice 
wondrously  clear  and  cheerful.  Eulalie  went  on 
with  her  reading,  but  there  was  no  further  re- 
sponse. 

"  How  very  still  grand'mere  is,"  said  Charlotte. 
Eulalie  paused ;  they  were  all  so  silent  that  they 
could  hear  each  other's  hearts  beat.  Eulalie  laid 
her  ear  upon  Mere  Angelique's  breast,  —  the 
lovingest  heart  of  all  was  stilled. 

A  few  days  after  came  the  Jour  des  Marts.  The 
village  people  stood  back,  and  none  spoke  as 
Eulalie  hung  over  Mere  Ange"lique's  grave  a  little 
painting  of  Notre  Dame  des  Sept  Douleurs, 
framed  in  Bourbon  lilies.  The  painting  was  Van's 
work,  and  the  frame  her  own,  and  the  dear  heart 
that  lay  beneath  loved  them  both.  Some  distant 


35 8  BOURBON  LILIES. 

relatives  of  Mere  Angelique  came  and  took  Char 
lotte  and  Mimi ;  it  seemed  that  they  were  the 
only  legacy  the  good  woman  had  to  leave.  They 
clung  weeping  about  Eulalie's  neck  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  they  were  separated,  nevei 
to  meet  again.  Wearily  Eulalie  went  back  to  hei 
little  room  in  Paris.  "  I  have  lost  my  last  friend," 
she  said,  as  she  lay  down  upon  her  little  bed,  and 
drew  the  curtains  that  separated  it  from  the 
room.  The  next  day  she  was  in  a  high  fever,  and 
the  physician  who  was  called  said  that  she  had 
taken  it  while  nursing  the  Mere  Angelique.  He 
was  right  and  wrong ;  the  disease  was  the  same 
as  that  of  which  the  Mere  Angelique  had  died,  a 
lack  of  interest  in  life,  but  its  fever  had  burned  in 
her  veins  longer  than  the  doctor  knew. 

Often  in  her  delirium  she  reproached  herself, 
"  I  deserve  to  be  unhappy,"  she  moaned ;  "  Mere 
Angelique  never  guessed  it,  but  I  was  not  true  to 
Ame"d6e, —  in  my  heart  I  was  not" 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
A  MAN'S  LOVE. 

'Tis  sweet  to  think,  that,  where'er  we  rove, 
We  are  sure  to  find  something  blissful  and  dear, 

And  that  when  we  're  far  from  the  lips  we  love, 
We  've  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  we  are  near. 

MOORE. 

XT"  AN,  since  his  return  to  America,  was  win- 
ning "golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of 
people."  He  was  the  pet  of  fashionable  society ; 
the  critics  were  not  only  merciful,  but  flattering, 
and  still  better,  he  was  constantly  receiving  sub- 
stantial certificates  of  approval  from  picture 
buyers.  Society  reproached  him  for  indifference 
to  his  honors,  but  they  honored  him  the  more  for 
his  irresponsiveness  to  their  enthusiasm.  Insen- 
sibly, too,  Van  was  becoming  interested  in  his 
own  success ;  it  seemed  so  ridiculous  to  him  that 
any  one  should  consider  him  an  artist,  or  care  to 
purchase  his  pictures,  when  men  in  Europe,  so 
much  farther  advanced  than  himself,  called  them- 
selves only  students,  and  never  thought  of  offering 

(359) 


36O  BOURBON  LILIES. 

anything  of  their  own  for  sale.  The  change  of 
mental  atmosphere  was  certainly  doing  him  good. 
Men  seldom  die  of  broken  hearts ;  "  the  care  of 
this  world,  and  the  deceitfulness  of  riches,"  have 
their  good  uses,  and  not  only  choke  the  good 
word,  but  with  it  disappointed  aspirations  and 
broken-winged  loves ;  and  the  man  goes  on,  not 
quite  forgetting,  perhaps,  but  too  much  occupied 
to  be  altogether  wretched.  Sometimes,  late  on  a 
lonely  evening,  as  he  gives  aimless  pokes  to  the 
red  anthracite  in  his  grate,  there  sweeps  over 
him  such  a  tide  of  memory  that  he  can  almost 
fancy  the  empty  easy-chair  opposite  tenanted  by 
a  woman's  form,  but  the  delusion  is  transitory, 
and  he  turns  quickly  to  the  actual  and  the 
present.  Van  was  more  faithful,  more  conscien- 
tious, than  this.  He  was  honestly  unhappy  that 
Eulalie's  loss  did  not  make  him  more  miserable. 
He  told  hiniself  angrily  that  he  loved  Eulalie 
more  than  her  boorish  lover  Amedee,  but  the 
garde  chasse  had  died  for  her,  and  he  was  living 
on  very  comfortably,  in  spite  of  his  disappoint- 
ment. His  indignation  with  himself  received  a 
fresh  impulse  about  this  time,  in  a  letter  from 
Orsovitr.h.  It  was  postmarked  Chicago,  and  ran 
as  follows : 


A  MAN'S  LOVE. 


DEAR  OLD  FELLOW:  For  the  last  three  weeks  I 
have  been  in  Paradise,  and,  figuratively  speaking,  am 
still  there.  To  explain  at  once,  for  I  hate  mystifica- 
tions: Paradise  is  the  very  appropriate  name  of  a 
camp  occupied  by  the  — th  U.  S.  Cavalry,  on  a  river 
of  the  same  name  (which  is,  likewise,  well  suited  to 
the  cognomen),  in  Western  Kansas.  How  did  I  find 
myself  in  this  garden  of  Eden  ?  I  scarcely  know.  I 
told  you  that  I  should  probably  keep  going  until  I 
reached  California,  and,  having  done  this,  I  concluded 
to  make  a  complete  circuit  of  the  globe,  and  was 
crossing  overland,  when  I  heard  that  General  C., 
whom  I  met  in  Europe,  was  in  camp  on  the  plains. 
The  general  had  pressed  me  very  hospitably  to  enjoy 
a  buffalo  hunt  with  him  if  I  ever  found  myself  in  his 
vicinity,  and,  on  my  sending  him  a  dispatch,  the  invi- 
tation was  seconded  by  another,  which  left  no  doubt 
as  to  its  sincerity.  I  had  expected  to  find  a  band  of 
rough  men,  living  in  the  most  primitive  fashion,  pre- 
pared for  Indian  warfare,  and  did  not  know  but  I 
might  have  a  dash  of  this  as  well.  You  can  imagine 
my  surprise  when  I  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  what 
seemed  a  court  picnic.  Under  a  delightful  grove  on 
the  banks  of  a  pretty  little  stream,  booths  and  pavil- 
ions were  arranged  in  the  most  tasteful  and  picturesque 
manner  possible.  Officers  strode  about  in  the  showiest 
of  uniforms ;  the  army,  encamped  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  ravine,  seemed  there  only  to  furnish  them 
with  orderlies,  hostlers,  and  handsome  horses.  I 
caught  glimpses  of  negro  servants  placing  handsome 
silver  services  on  snowy  damask ;  of  packs  of  expen- 
sive blooded  hounds,  gamboling  on  the  grass ;  of 
luxurious  reclining  chairs,  couches,  and  tables  strewn 
with  the  latest  European  literature ;  and  still  greater 
wonder,  of  ladies,  fashionably  and  elegantly  dressed, 
promenading  and  seated  in  this  Paradise.  The  general 
had  sent  an  orderly  and  an  ambulance  to  the  station, 
some  five  miles  distant,  anticipating  my  arrival,  a  nd 
46 


BOURBON  LILIES. 


now  came  forward  to  greet  me.  He  placed  a  tent,  a 
fine  rifle,  a  magnificent  horse,  and  a  servant  at  my 
disposal,  and  proceeded  to  introduce  me  to  his  officers. 
The  name  of  one  of  them,  Major  Poser,  struck  me 
as  slightly  familiar,  but  I  was  not  at  all  prepared  for 
hearing  that  gentleman  say,  "My  wife  and  her  sister 
are  in  camp  with  me  ;  the  general  was  speaking  to 
them  of  you  last  night,  and  they  are  under  the 
impression  that  they  met  you  abroad  last  spring;  do 
let  me  relieve  their  curiosity  by  taking  you  down  to 
our  tent  for  a  few  moments.  I  will  bring  you  back 
in  time  for  the  general's  mess,  and  I  am  sure  that  he 
will  excuse  you."  Well,  Van,  you  have  already 
guessed  who  they  were.  Of  all  things,  to  think  of 
meeting  Mrs.  Poser  and  Fanny  Fitz  Flirt  again  in 
this  fashion.  You  may  fancy  that  I  was  surprised, 
and  not  at  all  displeased,  remembering,  as  you  must, 
how  I  admired  them  both  the  first  evening  that  we 
met  them,  —  at  Papa  Robusti's,  in  Ecouen. 

Van  stretched  his  powers  of  recollection  to 
their  utmost,  but,  strive  as  he  would,  he  could  not* 
recall  the  admiration  of  which  Orsovitch  spoke. 
How  forgetful  I  must  be,  he  murmured,  and  then 
went  on  with  the  letter. 

Well,  as  I  told  you,  I  passed  here  the  most  delight- 
ful three  weeks  of  my  life.  Fanny  had  a  perfect 
little  bower  of  beauty  fitted  up  for  her,  and  called 
her  reception  tent.  It  was  floored  and  carpeted 
luxuriously,  with  here  and  there  a  wolf-skin,  or  other 
handsome  mat,  for  the  convenience  of  Frolic,  her 
creamy-white  greyhound.  A'n  American  flag  was 
tastefully  draped  at  the  entrance,  and  at  one  end  of 
the  tent  stood  her  tiny  upright  cabinet  piano,  which 
is  carried  about  with  them  wherever  they  go,  in  their 
"prairie  schooner,"  or  freight  wagon,  devoted  to  their 


A  MAN'S  LOVE.  363 


own  personal  belongings.  Delightfully  indolent  camp- 
chairs  abounded;  in  one  corner  stood  a  field-easel 
and  other  sketching  apparatus,  with  some  canvases, 
which  showed  that  Miss  Fanny  possessed  a  good  deal 
of  artistic  feeling,  much  originality,  entirely  unmixed 
with  any  real  knowlege  of  drawing.  In  the  opposite 
corner  stood  a  table  supporting  a  handsome  statuette 
of  Diana,  and  above  her  were  suspended  some  dainty 
firearms,  and  various  votive  offerings ;  a  beard  from 
a  buffalo,  slain  by  Miss  Fanny's  own  hand  ;  a  speci- 
men of  bead-work,  which  an  Indian  squaw  had  taught 
her  to  embroider;  quite  a  variety  of  other  Indian 
relics,  and  an  eagle's  wing  from  a  bird  shot  by  an 
admirer.  I  always  found  Miss  Fanny's  tent  a  delight- 
ful resort.  Her  musical  repertoire,  selected  at  Paris 
only  a  few  months  previous  with  a  great  deal  of 
discrimination,  happened  to  contain  some  of  my 
favorite  pieces.  The  only  nuisance  was,  that  the 
unmarried  officers  found  the  place  as  fascinating  as  I 
did,  and  I  rarely  had  the  pleasure  of  a  quiet  tete-d-tete 
with  Miss  Fanny.  We  often  read  aloud,  the  ladies 
occupied  in  some  light  needlework,  and  sometimes  I 
played  chess  with  Mrs.  Poser,  whom  I  found  remarka- 
bly skillful.  Before  dinner  we  invariably  took  a  long 
horse-back  ride.  The  delightful  monotony  of  this 
midsummer  night's  dream  had  only  two  interruptions, 
—  a  buffalo  hunt,  and  a  pillow-case  ball  given  Mrs. 
General  C.  The  former  was  the  most  exciting  scene 
in  which  I  ever  took  part ;  a  Russian  bear  hunt  is 
nothing  to  it.  I  wish  I  could  describe  that  wordless, 
almost  breathless  charge  over  the  crisp,  brown  prairie ; 
the  copper  sun  seemingly  joining  us  in  the  dizzying 
gallop ;  the  air,  faint  and  warm  when  we  stood  still, 
now  sharp  and  intoxicating;  the  thrill  in  my  own 
tight-drawn  nerves  sympathetic  to  the  one  which 
quivered  in  every  straining  fibre  of  my  racing  horse, 
and  the  loud  Ah,  ah !  of  the  hunters,  which  greeted 
each  shot  that  told ;  the  sight  of  the  huge  creatures 


364  BOURBON  LILIES. 

charging  the  hunters,  or  standing  sullenly  at  bay, 
pawing  up  the  earth  with  their  hoofs,  receiving  shot 
after  shot  with  sublime  indifference,  and,  finally, 
looking  about  in  a  strangely  human  way  for  a  soft 
spot,  and  kneeling  down  to  die.  Then,  over  and 
above  all,  the  ever-present  sense  of  insecurity,  with- 
out the  slightest  element  of  fear,  giving  to  everything 
an  insane  fascination  absolutely  indescribable.  Fanny 
behaved  in  the  most  intrepid  and  dashing  manner;  I 
never  saw  her  appear  to  better  advantage.  She  lost 
her  hat  in  an  early  stage  of  the  chase,  and  her  long 
auburn  hair,  every  bit  of  it  her  own,  not  a  particle  of 
sham  of  any  kfna  about  the  girl,  streamed  after  her, 
like  the  tail  of  a  comet.  "Am  I  not  right,"  she  said 
to  me  in  one  of  the  pauses  in  the  hunt,  "  to  make 
Diana,  Goddess  of  Hunting,  my  patron  saint?  delight- 
ful old  girl ;  I  don't  believe  you  ever  appreciated  her 
before."  "No,  nor  you  either,  Fanny,"  was  the 
equivocal  phrase  with  which  I  alone  found  time  to 
reply,  but  from  that  moment  a  man  with  a  golden 
hair  of  Lillith  round  his  heart  was  not  more  surely 
enslaved  than  I.  I  did  not  quite  like  the  idea  of 
proposing  at  once;  she  had  too  many  admirers  for 
me  to  feel  at  all  sure  of  my  ground,  and  so  I  deter- 
mined to  have  a  talk  with  Mrs.  Poser.  There  was  a 
Colonel  Bluster,  who  gave  himself  insufferable  airs 
of  familiarity  with  Fanny,  and  I  thought  I  would  make 
myself  certain  as  to  his  status  before  wading  in  too 
deeply  The  first  chance  that  I  had  to  speak  with 
Mrs.  Poser  alone  was  at  the  pillow-case  party,  a  bur- 
lesque affair,  at  which  every  one  appeared  robed 
exactly  alike,  in  sheets,  with  white  cotton  masks,  and 
a  hood,  like  a  capuchin's,  formed  from  a  pillow-case. 
I  recognized  Major  Poser  first,  noticed  the  lady  with 
whom  he  was  most  in  company,  and  chalked  her 
sleeve  with  colored  crayon.  Later  in  the  evening,  I 
asked  her  to  accompany  me  in  a  promenade  upon  the 
parade,  where  bonfires  were  lighted  at  intervals,  and 


A  MAN'S  LOVE.  $6$ 

the  regimental  band  was  discoursing  rather  noisy  but 
exuberant  music.  This  fete  champttre  was  the  most 
European  thing  I  have  seen  in  America ;  it  reminded 
me  strongly  of  the  fete  at  Ecouen  —  with  a  difference. 
I  informed  Mrs.  Poser  that  I  had  discovered  her 
identity,  and  proceeded  to  be  very  confidential.  She 
was  most  sympathetic,  and  by  degrees  I  divulged 
more  than  I  intended,  and,  emboldened  by  her  solemn 
assurance  that  her  sister  considered  Colonel  Bluster 
impertinently  presumptuous,  I  made  a  confession  in 
toto,  at  the  close  of  which  my  audience  of  one  burst 
into  a  peal  of  merry  laughter,  and  throwing  aside  her 
mask  discovered  Miss  Fanny  herself.  I  was  some- 
what taken  aback,  though  it  was  just  as  well  as  it  was, 
for  if  it  had  been  her  sister,  I  should  have  been  as 
thoroughly  compromised,  with  the  additional  incon- 
venience of  having  the  whole  declaration  to  go  over 
with  again. 

Well,  here  we  are  in  Chicago,  at  Miss  Fanny's 
paternal  mansion.  The  invitations  for  the  wedding 
are  out,  you  will  find  one  enclosed  for  yourself,  and 
Fanny  joins  me  in  hoping  that  you  will  be  able  to 
honor  us  with  your  attendance.  After  the  wedding 
I  shall  take  my  bride  at  once  to  my  home  in  Russia. 

And,  now,  my  dear  boy,  I  am  aware  that  I  have 
given  you  a  very  superficial  view  of  the  whole  affair  ; 
but  I  do  assure  you  that  my  love  for  Fanny  is  entirely 
unconnected  with  any  calculations  as  to  the  probable 
worth  of  her  father's  grain  elevators  ;  it  is  an  earnest, 
manly,  and  blessedly  comfortable  affair,  quite  different 
from  the  agonies  and  paroxysms  through  which  I 
suppose  ever}'  man  passes  at  some  period  of  his 
existence.  I  confessed  all  my  Ecouen  experience  to 
Fanny;  am  not  sure  that  I  would  have  done  so  had 
she  not  catechised  me  pretty  closely,  showing  that 
she  already  knew  almost  everything,  and  guessed 
considerably  more.  When  I  told  her  of  the  loss  at 
sea  of  the  steamship  on  which  Eulalie  had  taken 


366  BOURBON  LILIES. 

passage,  she  cried  like  a  baby,  and  I  confess  I  thought 
the  more  of  her  for  her  soft-heartedness. 

Your  letter  from  Paris,  with  quite  a  budget  of  other 
correspondence,  overtook  me  here  yesterday.  Very 
fortunate  for  me  that  it  didn't  arrive  sooner;  now 
any  reconsideration  of  a  question  which  I  had  sup- 
posed irrevocably  settled  for  me,  is  entirely  out  of  my 
power.  I  thank  you  for  your  interest,  but  all  is  very 
well  as  it  is.  And  now  I  close  with  old  Marmontel's 
advice,  which  I  have  found  remarkabley  good,  and 
which  I  advise  you  to  adopt  also :  Qiiand  on  ria  pas 
ce  qu'on  aime,  ilfaut  aimer  ce  qu'on  a. 
Auf  Wiedersehn, 

ORSOVITCH. 


Van  folded  the  letter  with  a  sarcastic  smile. 
And  was  this  all,  he  asked,  of  an  affection  which 
he  had  believed  stonger  tnan  his  own  ?  No,  it 
was  not  possiole ;  good  spirits  had  wrestled  might- 
ily in  and  for  Orsovitch,  but  they  had  given  him  up 
as  not  worth  fighting  for.  Perhaps  Orsovitch 
felt  more  deeply  than  his  letter  implied,  or 
than  Van  gave  him  credit  for.  Van  called  several 
times  upon  the  newly-married  couple  before  they 
sailed  for  Europe,  and  was  as  well  pleased  with 
Mrs.  Orsovitch  as  with  the  Fanny  of  other  days. 
She  was  the  same  attractive,  intelligent,  true- 
hearted  American  girl ;  sufficiently  accustomed 
to  European  society  to  appear  to  advantage  in  it, 
and  with  tact  enough  to  keep  in  subjection  the 


A  MAN'S  LOVE. 


husband  she  had  enthralled,  his  double  nature, 
good  and  evil  spirits,  and  all.  She  was  a  better 
wife  than  Orsovitch  deserved.  Van  scanned  him 
closely,  and  could  only  see  the  model,  devoted- 
husband,  until  one  evening  when,  before  the  gas 
was  lighted,  Orsovitch  seated  himself  at  the 
piano,  and  played  thoughtfully  Beethoven's  Moon- 
light Sonata.  An  old  man  is  musing  over  his 
life.  Very  pleasantly  run  his  recollections  through 
the  scenes  of  his  youth ;  when,  suddenly,  in  the 
midst  of  some  happy  souvenir,  memory  hurls 
upon  him  a  "  De  Profundis,"  which  he  had  cov- 
ered over  and  thought  forgotten.  Each  happy 
reverie  is  shattered  with  the  same  discordant 
crash.  Some  black  scene,  such  as  the  picture 
gallery  of  most  men's  memories  holds,  rises,  cast- 
ing the  shadow  of  remorse  over  all.  The  few 
guests  present  were  silent,  magnetized  by  the 
spirit  with  which  Orsovitch  rendered  the  sonata. 
He  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Van,  who  was  standing 
close  beside  him,  as  one  of  the  bitter  storm  waves 
rolled  over  the  keys,  "That  memory  is  Eulalie. 
Flowers,  too,  always  make  me  think  of  her,  — 

"  I  shall  never  be  friends  again  with  roses, 
I  shall  hate  sweet  music  my^whole  life  long." 

Van   could  not  reply;  there  seemed  to  be  a 
great  wall  between  them. 


BOURBON   LILIES. 


Shortly  after  the  departure  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Orsovitch,  Van's  friends  were  surprised  by  the 
announcement  of  an  auction  sale  of  his  effects, 
preparatory  to  a  sudden  leave-taking  for  Europe. 
What  seemed  to  him  the  unfaithfulness  of  his 
friend  had  aroused  all  the  antagonism  of  his 
nature,  and  with  it  the  really  strong  affection 
which  he  felt  for  Eulalie.  "  If  I  could  have  fore- 
seen this,"  he  repeated  constantly  to  himself  ; 
"  but,  please  God,  it  shall  not  even  now  be  too 
late."  The  seemingly  interminable  voyage  was 
at  last  over,  and,  arriving  in  Paris  at  four  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  Van  ordered  the  coachman  to  set 
him  down  at  the  Hotel  de  Louvre,  intending  to 
take  a  nap,  and  call  upon  Eulalie  as  early  in  the 
day  as  conventionality  would  permit.  He  threw 
himself  upon  the  bed,  but  could  not  sleep.  A 
strange  restlessness  had  taken  possession  of  him, 
and  he  determined  to  walk  in  the  garden  of  the 
Tuileries  until  it  should  be  late  enough  for  him 
to  call.  Toward  daybreak  he  could  control  him- 
self no  longer,  and  involuntarily  he  walked  in  the 
direction  of  the  Hotel  Bon  Ange.  It  was  so  early 
that  no  one  would  be  up,  but  he  reasoned  that 
the  sight  of  the  house  in  which  she  lived  might 
calm  him,  and,,  after  he  had  passed  it  once  or 
twice,  enable  him  to  return  to  his  hotel  and  take 
his  breakfast  like  a  perfectly  sane  individual. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
OUR  LADY'S  GARLAND. 

If  he  would  come  to-day,  to-day,  to-day, 

Oh!  what  a  day  to-day  would  be  I 
But  now  he 's  away,  miles  and  miles  away 

From  me,  across  the  sea. 
O,  little  bird,  flying,  flying,  flying 

To  your  nest  in  the  warm  west, 
Tell  him  as  you  pass  that  I  am  dying, 

As  you  pass  home  to  your  nest. 

CHRISTINA  G.  ROSSETTI. 

the  night  preceding  Van's  arrival  in  Paris, 
in  the  little  room  that  served  as  office  for 
the  Hotel  Bon  Ange,  Zizi  watched  at  the  bedside 
of  her  friend.  The  heavy  curtains  were  drawn 
back  from  the  alcove,  that  she  might  have  air, 
and  the  lamplight  fell  upon  the  sunken  cheeks 
and  closed  eyes  of  Eulalie.  Very  still  and  white  lay 
the  face,  like  a  marble  mask,  separated  from  the 
whiteness  of  the  linen  by  the  dark  hair,  which  lay 
upon  the  pillow  like  skeins  of  tangled  silk.  Her 
aunt  dozed  in  the  fauteuil  beside  the  fire-place; 
she  would  have  gone  to  bed,  for  Zizi  could  have 
47  369 


37°  BOURBON  LILIES. 

given  the  lodgers  their  keys  as  they  came  in,  but 
the  doctor  had  said  that  this  was  the  crisis  night  in 
the  fever,  a  crisis  of  whose  result  there  could  be 
no  doubt.  Very  soon,  — 

"  The  sickness,  the  nausea, 

The  pitiless  pain, 
Would  cease,  with  the  fever 

That  maddened  her  brain  — 
With  the  fever  called  '  living,' 

That  burned  in  her  brain." 

Zizi  had  wept  so  much*  that  her  eyelids  ard 
cheeks  were  swollen,  and  she  could  scarcely  see 
the  work  that  must  be  done  though  her  heart 
broke.  A  basket  at  her  feet  was  filled  with  tufts 
of  black  plumes,  and  little  boxes  of  jet  beads 
were  ranged  along  the  side  of  the  bed.  It 
seemed  to  Zizi  as  if  she  were  preparing  mourn- 
ing for  Eulalie's  death.  Her  fingers  trembled  so 
that  the  beads  slipped  from  her  needle  to  the 
floor.  She  stooped  to  pick  them  up,  and  the 
slight  noise  which  she  made  roused  Eulalie.  "  II 
is  1,  dear,"  she  said,  noting  the  startled  expres- 
sion. 

"  I  thought  it  was  Our  Lady,"  replied  Eulalie, 
"come  for  her  garland,  and  I  have  not  begun  it 
yet.  It  is  the  busy  season,  so  many  orders,  so 
much  work.  Ask  her  to  wait  till  morning,  Zizi. 


OUR   LADY'S   GARLAND.  37 * 

Tell  her  I  will  work  all  night,  and  she  may  rely 

upon  me ;  I  will  surely  have  it  dtme." 

'   "  What  did  she  say  ? "  asked  her  aunt,  waking 

up. 

"  She  thinks  she  is  back  at  the  flower  store, 
and  has  an  order  to  finish,"  replied  Zizi ;  "  it  is 
seeing  me  work,  I  suppose,  that  has  put  it  into 
her  head.  She  watched  me  a  long  while  some 
time  since,  without  speaking,  and  then  closed  her 
eyes  again ;  they  had  quite  a  natural  look,  and  I 
fancied  she  was  in  her  right  mind  once  more." 

"  She  hasn't  spoken  once  during  the  afternoon," 
said  the  other ;  "I  always  humor  her  flighty 
notions,  whatever  they  may  be,  and  sa*y  something 
soothing,  pretending  it  is  just  as  she  thinks,  for 
it  only  confuses  and  worries  her  to  contradict  or 
try  to  explain." 

A  gloomy  day,  —  it  was  only  eight  o'clock,  and 
yet  it  had  been  dark  for  more  than  three  hours. 
Zizi  knew  the  exact  time,  no_t  from  the  little 
clock  on  the  mantel,  for  she  sat  with  her  back  to 
it,  but  because  Monsieur  Le  Maigre  had  just 
asked  for  his  key.  He  was  an  invalid,  and  always 
entered  directly  after  he  had  finished  his  evening 
meal  at  the  cafe,  never  indulging  in  the  theatre, 
or  irregularities  of  any  sort.  He  was  very  exact ; 
when  the  needle  pointed  to  two  minutes  cf  eight 


372  BOURBON  LIMES. 

they  always  listened  for  his  tread,  a  listless  weary 
one,  as  if  he  were  too  tired  to  lift  his  feet  fairly, 
but  let  them  drag  one  after  the  other ;  and  yet,- 
with  all  his  languor,  he  was  never  late.  He  was 
inquiring  for  Eulalie  now  in  a  monotonous  voice, 
that  corresponded  well  with  his  steps.  "  He  left 
a  bouquet  for  Eulalie  yesterday,"  said  the  elder 
woman.  "  Idiot,  as  if  any  one  as  crazy  as  she  is 
would  notice  flowers  ;  and  I'll  warrant  you  he  '11 
not  think  to  bring  any  for  the  interment.  I  gave 
the  bouquet  to  Louis,  who  sells  flowers  between 
acts  at  the  Opera  Comique.  It  will  help  pay  for 
all  that  medicine.  She  is  speaking  again  ;  listen." 

"  They  must  be  all  white  flowers,  for  they  are 
for  the  great  marriage  supper,"  said  Eulalie.  "  I 
think  I  will  begin  with  Uncle  Paquerette.  He 
will  not  despise  a  daisy,  though  it  is  a  common 
field  flower.  I  can't  think  of  any  flowers  that 
are  all  white.  I  must  ask  our  lady  to  let  me  give 
her  some  others." 

"  Speak  to  her,  ask  her  something,"  whispered 
her  aunt. 

"  Don't  work  so  hard,  Eulalie,"  said  Zizi ;  "  I 
will  help  you  with  your  garland ;  leave  it  to  me, 
and  sleep  now,  I  will  have  it  ready  when  milady 
comes." 

"  It  is  not  a  milady ;  it  is  Our  Lady,"  persisted 


OUR   LADY'S   GARLAND.  373 

the  sick  girl,  "  Our  Lady  of  Seven  Sorrows.  She 
stepped  out  of  the  church  window  while  I  was 
praying  to  her  just  now,  and  told  me  she  wanted 
me  to  make  a  garland  for  her  son." 

"  Some  altar  decorations,  you  mean,  don't  you, 
for  your  little  church  in  Ecouen  ? " 

"  No,  they  were  for  one  of  the  halls  in  heaven, 
the  most  beautiful  of  all,  the  Throne  Room,  and 
the  flowers  were  to  be  human  souls.  She  said 
she  would  come  for  the  garland  herself.  There, 
I  hear  her  footsteps,  and  it  is  not  ready." 

"  It  is  only  Mademoiselle  Fafalata,  going  to  the 
theatre,"  said  her  aunt ;  "  I  can  tell  her  step  at 
any  time  of  night,  she  comes  down  stairs  with  a 
hop,  skip,  and  jump,  and  then  click,  click,  rat,  tat, 
go  her  little  heels  on  the  pavement.  I  don't 
need  to  see  the  lodgers  to  know  which  is  there. 
I  might  wake  up  at  any  hour  of  night  and  tell 
you  the  hour,  and  who  was  passihg  simply  from 
hearing  their  tread.  Each  one  has  his  times  of 
going  and  coming,  and  a  different  way  of  setting 
his  feet  down." 

"  Madame  Lepine,  come  here  !"  exclaimed  Zizi, 
in  a  frightened  tone.  "  She  looks  so  strangely,  is 
she  dying  ? " 

Eulalie's  eyes  opened  with  a  smile.  "  Oh,  Zizi, 
I  have  seen  her  again,"  said  she,  "  and  she  says 


374  BOURBON   LILIES. 

her  son  does  not  want  all  white  flowers ;  I  am  so 
glad,  they  were  so  hard  to  find.  He  says  the 
angels'  souls  are  all  white,  and  He  wants  human 
souls  that  have  sinned  and  suffered,  and  repented. 
And  now  I  can  weave  in  all  my  friends.  Look, 
there  is  Reinette,  a  spray  of  bleeding  heart." 
The  exertion  of  speaking  seemed  to  exhaust  her, 
for  she  lay  silent  a  long  time,  though  her  fingers 
twitched  nervously  on  the  coverlet.  "  Ears  of 
wheat,"  she  whispered,  "  ripe  and  yellow,  —  the 
Mere  Angelique." 

Madame  Lepine  moved  uneasily.  "  It  is  ten 
o'clock,"  she  murmured,  "  I  hear  the  acc'ountant 
coming." 

He  asked  how  Eulalie  was,  as  he  lit  his  bed- 
room candle.  Zizi  lifted  an  unfinished  funeral 
wreath  from  her  basket.  "  It  will  not  be  done  in 
time  for  her  coffin,"  and  she  burst  into  tears  and 
hid  her  face  in 'the  coverlet. 

"Is  that  you,  Zizi?"  asked  Eulalie,  "You 
come  next  in  my  garland." 

"  I  am  not  fit,  my  soul  is  as  black  as  those 
crape  violets." 

"  All  who  have  sinned  and  suffered,"  whis- 
pered Eulalie. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have  suffered  any,"  re- 
plied Zizi,  though  the  crutch  which  told  of  the 


OUR   LADY'S   GARLAND.  375 

accident  which  had  cut  short  a  brilliant  careef 
lay  close  beside  her  crippled  limb.  "  I  was  never 
leceived  and  deserted  like  Reinette ;  I  adopted  a 
Jiast  life  because  I  could  make  money  by  it,  and 
because  I  thought  it  more  amusing  to  be  dancing 
behind  the  footlights,  than  to  be  saying  my 
catechism  to  the  priest.  I  got  nicely  paid  for  my 
Choice,  didn't  I  ?  Well,  it  was  no  more  than  I 
deserved,  'twould  have  served  me  right  if  I  had 
broken  my  neck.  I  wish  I  had,  so  that  you 
might  live,"  and  she  bent  tenderly  over  the  sick 
girl.  Eulalie  held  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Christ  wants  you  too,  Zizi.  You  are  a  great 
purple  passion  flower.  You  have  wandered  here 
and  there,  all  over  the  hot-house,  making  every 
place  bright  with  gay  leaves  and  blossoms,  doing 
harm  to  no  one  but  yourself,  and  Christ  wants 
the  wandering  passion-flower,  for  He  looks  down 
into  its  heart  and  sees  His  own  emblems,  the 
aammer  and  nails,  and  the  crown  of  thorns." 

"  It  is  true,  it  is  true,"  sobbed  Zizi,  in  an  agony 
of  tears.  "  Thou  who  knowest  all  things,  Thou 
knowest  I  repent.  Thou  knowest  how  many 
years  I  have  carried  the  thorns  of  remorse  in 
my  heart.  In  thy  mercy,  make  it  possible  for 
me  to  find  Eulalie  again  some  day." 

How  very  still  the  room  was  for  several  hours 


376  BOURBON  LILIES. 

afterward.  Eulalie  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 
Zizi  remained  upon  her  knees.  The  lodgers 
came  and  went,  Madame  Lepine  served  them 
silently,  wide  awake,  and  awed  a  little  by  what 
had  passed,  but  still  more  by  what  she  felt 
was  to  come.  When  death  is  known  to  be  ap- 
proaching, an  enemy  is  easily  forgiven.  A  man 
may  have  been  a  great  sinner,  but  we  forget  all, 
if  he  is  dying  before  us.  Eulalie  had  been  the 
most  dutiful  of  daughters  to  Madame  Lepine, 
she  could  not  remember  a  single  wrong  act  which 
she  had  committed  against  herself  or  any  one 
else,  and  suddenly  and  for  the  first  time,  all  their 
disagreements  came  before  her  in  their  true  light, 
Eulalie  always  in  the  right,  and  she  in  the  wrong. 
It  was  simply  outrageous  that  she  should  die,  and 
Madame  Lepine  felt  as  if  she  must  berate  some 
one,  but  she  was  powerless.  With  all  her  ef- 
frontery she  could  not  blame  the  Creator,  not 
now  at  least.  She  stood  beside  the  bed,  and 
seeing  that  Eulalie  was  not  asleep,  asked,  "  Am 
I,  too,  in  your  garland  ? " 

"  Yes,  aunt,  there,  the  tiger  lily ;"  I  can  see 
into  heaven,"  she  added ;  "  there  are  rows  of 
alabaster  lamps,  their  golden  flames  reflected  in 
the  crystal  sea.  Oh,  so  beautiful !  No,  they  are 
not  lamps,  they  are  pond  lilies,  such  as  grew 


OUR  LADY'S   GARLAND.  377 

around  the  Chateau  de  la  Chasse.  Our  lady 
wishes  me  to  put  one  in  her  garland.  That  one 
with  the  golden,  odorous  heart  is  AmedeVs  soul. 
It  never  opened  here,  for  it  lived  in  the  cold  lake 
under  the  shadow  of  the  chateau.  We  never 
guessed  what  there  was  within  the  tightly-closed 
petals,  but  there  is  sunshine  there.  Do  you 
remember  the  aloe  that  grows  at  Villa  Adeline  ? 
Adeline  planted  it,  but  it  only  flowered  last  year. 
I  used  to  think,  when  I  saw  its  sharp,  bayonet 
leaves,  that  it  was  a  very  ugly  thing,  and  not 
worth  the  room  it  took  to  grow  in.  I  did  not 
think  so  when  it  blossomed.  It  shot  up,  up. 
They  had  to  take  the  roof  off  the  conservatory. 
That  is  the  soul  of  La  Gazette.  She  has  love  in 
her  old  heart  as  strong  as  any  we  hold,  -—  her 
love  for  her  daughter.  She  only  hated  me  be- 
cause she  loved  Sidonie.  I  must  have  an  aloe 
in  my  garland." 

"  I  don't  believe  the  Virgin  will  be  pleased,' 
said  her  aunt,  grimly,  "if  you  offer  her  such 
trash  as  that." 

"  How  heavy  the  garland  is  growing,"  said  Eu- 
lalie ;  "  take  it  off  my  chest,  it  crushes  me,"  and 
her  fingers  caught  convulsively  at  the  throat  of 
her  night-gown.  "I  can't  breathe;  open  the 
window,  please.  I  am  so  tired,  and  Our  Lady 
48 


378  BOURBON  LILIES. 

will  come,  and  will  not  find  the  garland  ready.  I 
promised  it  by  sunrise.  It  has  grown  so  long 
that  it  is  hard  to  twist." 

It  was  pitiable  to  see  the  little  thumb  and 
wasted  fingers,  twisting,  twisting,  with  that 
peculiar  movement,  the  first  and  most  difficult 
thing  difleuriste  has  to  learn,  a  movement  as  hard 
to  catch  as  some  finger  poses  in  violin  exercises 
—  twist,  twist. 

"  That  scarlet  poppy  is  Sidonie,  —  flaunting, 
and  wild,  and  willful ;  but,  see,  it  forms  its  spot  of 
color  in  the  garland,  —  it  would  be  dull  and  cold 
without  it.  This  laurel  spray  is  Monsieur  Orso- 
vitch,  and  the  sprig  of  holly,  Monsieur  Van.  It 
was  always  Christmas  where  he  was ;  there  will 
never — be  any  —  Christmas  for  me." 

Her  eyes  closed,  the  fingers  by  degrees  ceased 
their  motion,  and  Zizi  cried  again,  in  a  low, 
startled  voice,  "  She  is  dying !  Oh,  my  God !  she 
is  dying ! " 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Madame  Lepine,  whose  hand 
was  on  Eulalie's  heart.  "  She  has  talked  too 
much,  that  is  all.  We  must  not  let  her  say 
another  word.  What  does  it  matter  though  ? "  she, 
added,  despairingly ;  "  we  can't  save  her,  do  what 
we  may.  There  is  Popol,"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 


OUR  LADY'S   GARLAND.  379 

"  I  did  not  think  it  was  so  near  morning ;  give 
him  his  key,  Zizi,  No.  42." 

Leopold,  or  Popol,  as  they  called  him,  was 
waiter  at  a  cafe  chantant,  and  never  arrived  a'.,  his 
lodgings  until  three  in  the  morning.  "  Here," 
said  he,  drawing  a  glass  of  wine  jelly  from  the 
inner  pocket  of  his  coat,  "that's  for  the  sick 
girl ;  I  filched  it  from  the  buffet ;  it  will  do  her 
good  ;  don't  break  the  tumbler." 

Madame  Lepine  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  out 
into  the  court-yard  after  the  frightened  Popol, 
glad  to  find  some  victim,  however  innocent,  on 
whom  to  wreak  her  pent-up  anger.  "  Go  to  the 
cemetery  with  your  jellies,"  she  hissed,  in  a  low, 
but  frightfully  penetrating  voice.  "  She  looks  as 
if  she  could  eat !  As  well  give  your  sweet  things 
to  the  drowned  people  at  the  morgue.  Don't  let 
me  catch  you  insulting  our  misery  like  this  again, 
idiot,"  and  Popol  being  by  this  time  too  far  up 
the  staircase  to  hear  her,  she  returned  to  the 
office,  and  sat  down  again  to  her  sullen  despair. 

Slowly  an  hour  wore  by,  then  another,  and  the 
night-watchman  stumbled  sleepily  in,  and  took 
his  key  from  its  hook,  for  both  of  the  women 
had  fallen  asleep  with  weariness  and  grief.  His 
entrance  awoke  them,  and  Zizi  sprang  again  to 
the  bedside,  and  placed  her  ear  over  Eulalie's  lips. 


BOURBON   LILIES. 


"  She  is  breathing  quietly,"  she  said  ;  "  I  think  the 
fever  is  leaving  her.  Oh  !  if  she  could  but  live." 

"  But  that  is  impossible,"  replied  Madame  Le- 
pine  ;  "  didn't  she  make  her  confession  yesterday, 
and  partake  of  the  sacrament  ?  Was  anybody 
ever  heard  to  get  well  after  that  ?  " 

"  You  talk  as  if  the  communion  were  poison," 
said  Zizi  ;  "  I  think  that  what  she  said  just  now 
was  better  than  any  confession.  How  beautifully 
she  pardoned  those  who  had  caused  her  so  much 
misery." 

"What  she  said  just  now  was  all  crazy  non- 
sense ;  it  sounded  as  if  it  had  been  read  out  of 
a  book,"  said  Madame  Lepine,  "  and  not  at  all  like 
what  a  sane  human  being  would  say.  Forgiving 
enemies  is  the  worst  sign  of  all.  When  people 
do  that,  you  may  be  sure  they  are  going  to  die. 
It  stands  to  reason,  nobody  in  their  senses  would 
ever  do  it.  Pretty  garland  for  the  Virgin,  old 
Gazette  and  Sidonie  would  make  !  I  should  like 
to  weave  them  a  garland  of  another  fashion,  — 
^it  should  be  of  good,  strong  hemp.  Catch  me 
doing  them  up  in  flowers  to  send  to  heaven  ;  if 
it  depended  on  me,  they  would  never  get  there." 

A  pale,  chilly  light  crept  into  the  room  ;  it  was 
the  grey  twilight  preceding  the  dawn.  Was  it 
this  or  death  that  gave  Eulalie's  face  that  ghastly 


OUR   LADY'S  GARLAND. 


look  ?  Her  fingers  were  feebly  twisting,  twisting 
in  her  sleep.  Suddenly  a  quick  footfall  was 
heard  on  the  pavement  without,  and  on  the  tiles 
in  the  corridor.  Eulalie  heard  it,  and  raised  her 
hand.  "  Hark,"  said  she  faintly,  "  Our  Lady  has 
come  for  her  garland.  Ask  her  to  wait  a  moment, 
only  one  flower  more, — mine  —  and//  is  — " 
Her  hand  fell,  and  she  lay  utterly  motionless. 
Zizi  turned,  and  looked  toward  the  door  ;  she  half 
expected  to  see  the  Virgin  enter  to  claim  the  gar- 
land, and  her  friend's  soul. 

"  It  is  no  one  who  belongs  here,"  said  Madame 
Lepine,  answering  Zizi's  look.  "  The  night-watch- 
man is  always  the  latest  comer.  It  must  be  only 
some  passer."  The  steps  were  in  the  corridor  as 
she  spoke,  and  there  was  a  very  gentle  knock  at 
the  door.  Neither  woman  rose.  The  knock  was 
repeated.  Madame  Lepine,  with  her  face  ash 
color,  strode  to  the  door,  and  threw  it  open  defi- 
antly. She  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise,  for  it  was 
Van  "Your  name  was  the  last  upon  her  lips," 
said  she,  pointing  to  the  bed.  Her  aunt's  excla- 
mation had  roused  Eulalie ;  she  held  out  her 
hands  as  though  they  were  full  of  flowers,  and  in 
a  whisper  finished  the  sentence,  whose  com- 
mencement Van  had  not  heard,  — 
"  Onlv  a  fleur-de-lis." 


BOURBON   LILIES. 


She  had  recognized  Van,  for  a  smile  of  wonder- 
ful sweetness  and  content  flickered  upon  her 
face  as  she  fell  asleep.  He  turned,  and  saw  the 
sunlight  lying  in  a  broad  field  upon  the  floor,  — 
the  morning  had  come. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

PEACE. 

A  little  longer  yet —  a  little  longer, 

Life  shall  be  thine  ;  life,  with  its  power  to  will ; 

Life,  with  its  strength  to  bear,  to  love,  to  conquer, 

Bringing  its  thousand  joys  thy  heart  to  fill. 

A  little  longer  still  —  patience,  beloved : 

A  little  longer  still,  ere  heaven  unroll 

The  glory,  and  the  brightness,  and  the  wonder, 

Eternal  and  divine,  that  waits  thy  soul  I 

ADELAIDE  A.  PROCTOR. 

TN  the  midst  of  a  lovely  little  park,  in  the 
suburbs  of  the  Centennial  City,  stands  an 
elegant  home,  the  exact  counterpart  in  architec- 
tural style  of  the  Villa  Adeline.  The  interior 
furnishings  are  the  same,  for  it  chanced  that  the 
Villa  Adeline  was  burned  while  Van  was  abroad, 
and  he  purchased  the  rescued  furniture  from  M. 
Dupinceau.  Here,  in  the  oriel  window,  if  the 
great  exhibition  allowed  you  any  time  for  one  of 
the  most  charming  drives  in  the  vicinity  of  Phila- 
delphia, or  in  some  one  of  the  shady  nooks  of  the 

(383) 


BOURBON  LILIES. 


exquisitely  arranged  grounds,  you  may  have 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Van  during  the  summer; 
and  if  you  saw  him,  you  may  be  sure  that  Eulalie 
was  not  far  distant,  for  they  are  inseparable  now. 
Death,  with  her  physician,  had  been  a  foregone 
conclusion  ;  but  one,  the  wisest  of  mortals,  wrote 
long  since,  "  Love  is  stronger  than  death."  The 
physician  was  mistaken  ;  Eulalie  had  strength 
enough  to  carry  her  over  the  crisis,  and  the  one 
glimpse  she  caught  of  Van's  face,  with  his  soul 
in  it,  remained  with  her  through  the  long,  health- 
giving  sleep,  lying  warm  at  her  heart,  so  that  it 
could  not  grow  cold,  and  making  the  days  of  con- 
valescence not  a  weary  waste,  but  a  long,  deli- 
cious dream,  and  life  was  a  certainty,  because  life 
was  love.  That  winter  they  spent  at  Capri,  and 
when  spring  came  they  turned  their  faces  toward 
Van's  home  in  the  New  World.  Theirs  was  a  very 
quiet  wedding  in  Paris,  —  only  a  few  of  Van's  artist 
friends,  with  Madame  Lepine,  Zizi,  and  Alphonse, 
in  the  uniform  of  a  corporal.  Pere  Parquerette 
came  with  them.  The  old  man  cannot  speak  a 
word  of  English,  but  he  says  that  the  flowers, 
even  in  America,  speak  French,  and  he  is  fully 
occupied  and  happy,  reigning  as  a  really  skillful 
gardener  over  Van's  park,  garden,  and  conserva- 
tory. The  broad  circle  under  the  oriel  window  is 


PEACE.  385 

planted  with  royal  fleur  de  Us,  which  grow  lush 
and  tall  from  frequent  watering.  On  summer 
afternoons,  while  the  faint  perfume  in  the  vase- 
shaped  blossoms,  swaying  like  so  many  censers, 
seems  literally  to  burn,  and  the  heat  is  still  too 
oppressive  for  out-door  sketching,  the  oriel  win- 
dow is  their  favorite  resort.  Here  Van  and 
Eulalie  love  to  play  chess  together;  perhaps 
because  the  game  is  such  a  selfish  one,  that  the 
presence  of  more  than  the  players  is  only  an 
intrusion,  perhaps  because  the  mimic  tournament 
brings  up  Old-World  memories,  — 

"  Old  slopes  of  pasture  ground, 

Old  fosse,  and  moat,  and  mound, 
Where  the  mailed  warrior  and  crusader  came  ; 

Old  walls  of  crumbling  stone, 

With  ivy  overgrown, 
And  Ecouen's  castles'  glory-crowned  fame." 

For  each  castle  to  them  means  the  old  Chateau 
de  Montmorenci ;  the  white  queen  is  Charlotte, 
Princess  of  Conde,  and  the  red  is  Catherine  de 
Medicis ;  one  of  the  red  bishops  is  the  scarlet- 
robed  cardinal,  Odet  de  Coligny,  who  flames  still 
on  the  window  next  to  Our  Lady  of  Sorrows  in 
the  little  church ;  one  of  the  white  knights  is 
Chevalier  Bayard,  "sans  peur  et  sans  reproche" 
one  of  the  red  ones  is  Bourbon.  Sometimes  they 
49 


386  BOURBON  LILIES. 

change  the  names  of  the  pieces,  and  work  out  dif- 
ferent historical  events  by  an  ingenious  mingling 
of  Hoyle  and  Froissart.  Bourbon  killed  at  the 
storming  of  Rome  is  described  thus :  white 
castle  (St.  Angelo)  takes  red  knight  A  royal 
visit  at  the  Chateau  de  Montmorenci  is  king 
castles.  Various  royal  marriages  are  fool's  mate, 
and  the  analogs  are  carried  deep  into  the  intri- 
cacies of  the  k-  "•  But  this  is  only  play.  Van's 
work  comes  earliei  .  n  the  day,  and  later.  He  is 
winning  a  reputation  unique  among  American 
artists,  as  combined  figure  and  flower  painter,  — 
the  first  painter  who  has  done  justice  to  the 
beauty  of  American  gardens,  posing  his  models 
daringly  among  banks  of  brilliant  flowers,  and 
having  the  rare  artistic  talent  of  making  the 
hazardous  combination  exquisitely  harmonious. 
The  art  world  has  but  one  reproach  for  Van  :  there 
is  sure  to  be  one  face  in  nearly  all  his  pictures, 
which,  though  exquisitely  beautiful,  it  finds  deci- 
dedly monotonous.  They  say  that  when  that  face 
is  present,  he  need  not  sign  his  work.  Wors£ 
reproaches  might  be  made  of  an  artist  than  that 
he  should  find  most  like  second  nature,  more 
familiar  than  his  name,  his  *'  own  wife's  face." 

Eulalie  has  made  many  friends.    High  and  low 
praise  the   gentle   little  lady  with    the  perfect 


PEACE.  387 

manner,  and  the  earnest,  loving  heart  that  lies 
beneath.  Those  who  know  her  find  nothing 
incongruous  when  Van  paints  her  as  some  fair, 
sweet  saint,  with  her  arms  filled  with  lilies,  or  as 
the  Madonna  herself,  in  Florentine  style,  against 
a  background  of  beaten  gold.  Since  Van  has 
known  Eulalie,  .she  and  flowers  have  grown  into 
his  life.  Not  only  do  living  flowers  blossom  in 
every  possible  niche  of  their  home,  but  the  walls 
are  hung  with  flower  paintings  from  the  brush  of 
Seghers,  Watteau,  Robie,  De  Heem  and  St.  Jean, 
for  Van  and  Eulalie  can  say,  with  Mrs.  Howitt ; 

"We  love  these  pictures  that  we  see 
At  times  in  some  old  gallery, 
Hung  amid  armed  men  of  old, 
And  antique  ladies,  quaint  and  cold; 
'Mong  furious  battle-pieces,  dire 
With  agony,  and  blood,  and  fire;  — 
Flower-pictures,  painted  long  ago, 
Though  worn,  and  old,  and  dimmed  of  glow, 
We  love  them,  although  art  may  deem 
Such  pictures  of  but  light  esteem. 

"  We  love  them  most  that  they  present 
Ever  some  goodly  sentiment ; 
The  virgin-mother,  young  and  mild; 
The  cradle  of  the  holy  child; 
Or,  'mid  a  visioned  glory  faint, 
The  meek  brow  of  some  martyred  saio* : 
And  with  their  painters  we  can  tind 
A  kindred  sympathy  of  mhwi 


388  BOURBON    LILIES. 

Flowers  are  around  us  bright  of  hue, 
The  quaint  old  favorites  and  the  new, 
But  with  this  fair  array  is  brought 
Full  many  a  deep  and  holy  thought, 
And  for  us  garden-buds  and  bowers, 
Like  the  old  pictures  of  the  flowers, 
Within  their  blooming  depths  enshrine 
Ever  some  sentiment  divine  I " 


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